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JACOB’S Heiress 


BY 

ANNETTE L: NOBLE 

>■> 

Author of 

“the RYHOVES of ANTWERP,” “THE PROFESSOR’S GIRLS,' 
“ AFTER THE FAILURE,” ETC. 


NOV 201894 


PHILADELPHIA 

Presbyterian board of publication 
AND Sabbath-School work 

No. 1334 Chestnut St. 


f 




F-z-1 


COPYRIGHT, 1894, BY 

THE TRUSTEES OF THE 

PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION 
AND SABBATH-SCHOOL WORK. 


All Rights Reserved. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

One of the Peace Council 5 

CHAPTER II. 

In Antwerp 48 

CHAPTER HI. 

Sunny France 72 

CHAPTER IV. 

Antwerp Again '. . 99 

CHAPTER V. 

The Hope and the Fortune 116 

CHAPTER VI. 

Antwerp’s Fall 138 

CHAPTER VII. 

A New Home 161 

3 


4 


. Conteyits. 


(UIAPTEK VIII. 

PAGE 

Left in Leyden 179 

CHAPTEK IX. 

Another Home 197 

CHAPTER X. 

Sophie’s Journal 210 

CHAPTER XL 

Sophie’s Journal {Continued) 250 

CHAPTER XII. 

Death ' 257 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Sophie’s Journal Again 266 

CHAPTER XIV. 

The Chateau • . . 272 

CHAPTER XV. 

Sophie’s Journal {Continued) 281 

CHAPTER XVI. 

No Longer Exiles 305 


JACOB’S Heiress. 


CHAPTER I. 

ONE OF THE PEACE COUNCIL. 

JT was a dismal afternoon in early autumn. A 
mist that was almost rain settlejd down on 
the city of Antwerp, making belated wayfarers 
hasten toward home. We say “belated,” for, 
although it was not past five o’clock, Antwerp 
streets in that year of our Lord 1584 were un- 
lighted unless by some traveler’s lantern or the 
torchbearers of a more important person. 

Honest Burgher Van Schendel trudged labor- 
iously toward his supper, puffing, blowing and 
muttering as he went. Bakers’ boys who passed 
him promptly yielded him the right of way, 
perhaps because of his energetic utterances, per- 
haps because there was more room for them 
midway in the unpaved street. Herr Van 
Schendel’s velvet doublet was unbuttoned for 
more freedom in action, displaying his woolen 


6 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


waistcoat enveloping a form of prodigious girth. 
The mist was fast making limp his wide 
starched ruff, into which sank his vast double 
chin, and so fat were his legs that locomotion 
was by no means easy. The path was slimy 
with mud, the daylight almost gone. He 
looked up for the cathedral, by which he would 
guide his course across the near square. Lo, it 
had been swallowed by the fog. Along the way 
came another traveler,, also fat, also vociferous. 
The fat porker and the fatter burgher might 
have met, and one or the other have been the 
worse for the meeting, but suddenly around a 
corner came a squat little man bearing a torch. 
The flare of light caused the brute to flee and 
the burgher to grumble: 

“Why not wait to meet me on my mine 
own threshold, Jacob?” 

“ ’Tis not so late as it seems, master. I had 
been earlier, but Vrouw Van Schendel sent me 
elsewhere on an errand.” 

“For some nonsense, I grant ye. Have a 
care, fellow, or you will set the town on fire, 
you carry your torch so wildly.” 

Jacob grinned as if he had been praised, 
and the two plodded on like the giant and the 


One of the Peace Council. 7 

pigmy in a fairy-tale. In the bright light Van 
Schendehs face came out plainly — a face by no 
means dull or peevish. He had a high and 
handsome white forehead, keen gray eyes, a 
rugged nose, a clear skin flushing with motion 
and emotion, for he was in a way as sensitive 
as fat. His long peaked beard wasVed, but no 
hair covered his Arm not unpleasant mouth. 
He looked younger than the fifty years to which 
he confessed. His guide was a dwarf, alert in 
movement, slow in speech, almost stupid enough 
in manner for a fool. His lack-lustre blue eyes 
and drawn-down mouth gave him a sullen 
air, but his looks belied him. Jacob was ever 
prompt to serve his friends, and rarely beheld 
his master without a grin of welcome, no mat- 
ter how his master greeted him. This night 
his big feet slapped along through the puddles, 
and he did not once turn his head to wonder at 
Van Schendeks muttering, now of corn, now of 
the butchers’ guild, then of St. Aldegonde, the 
new burgomaster, ,and again of the Blau-garen 
Dyke. 

“ ’ Tis easy to tell where master has been this 
day ” muttered the dwarf in his turn. “ Nothing 
on land or water fills him so full of fight as a 


8 


Jacob\s Heiress. 


meeting of the Peace Council. Hey! what is 
here mewling like a starved kitten?” 

Jacob stopped with a lurch of the torch back- 
ward that might have set Van Schendel’s ruff on 
fire had it been as stiff and rampant as usual, 
instead of hanging limp; then, lowering the 
light, there came into sight a slim, fair-haired 
little girl, shivering, sobbing and begging. The 
older man grumbled at the delay — was willing 
to give her something, but loath to hunt for his 
purse. Jacob, oddly enough, seemed only inter- 
ested in her old gown. It was wet and torn, but 
he saw it was quite unlike a beggar’s. Seeming 
to squat into an attitude of repose, he began : 
“ Who are you, and why — ” but the burgher 
cut his questions short: 

“ If the brat is hungry, tell her to follow us. 
It rains: I care not to soak here. Go on!” 

Jacob motioned to the child to follow, and she 
pattered along at his side, answering his many 
questions. Antwerp was full of beggars. It 
had been so for years, and would be so for 
years to come, but the people’s hearts were not 
hardened toward them. The rich citizen who 
one day gathered his family about his well-filled 
table reflected that his neighbor lay dead on the 


One of the Peace Council. 9 

battle-field or languished in prison, while his 
children were stripped of all they had. He 
knew that a twelvemonth later his family 
might be in the same plight, and the reflection 
made him merciful. 

“Master,” exclaimed Jacob, “knew you ever 
in Antwerp merchants by the name of Volmar ?” 

“Ay: ’twas a great house, burned when the 
Spanish sacked the city eight years ago.” 

“ And might there have been a son Ludwig ?” 

“ The only son — but no, there was one Andreas 
in Rotterdam.” 

“Heard you that this Ludwig is dead three 
months gone? He was an officer in King 
Philip’s army that is now outside Antwerp.” 

“ I have heard only too much of him. Old 
Herr Volmar was a Romanist, ’tis true, but he 
was a loyal citizen and loved the Netherlands. 
The traitor son is w'ell dead : he left no son.” 

The dwarf halted a minute to turn the torch- 
light full in the child’s face, and remarked, “ I 
thought that little mud-birds never had feathers 
like this one, bedraggled as it is. Can you 
believe ’tis the Volmar heiress? That is the 
story just told me. I doubt not the stomach is 
empty, only I noted first that the gown worn 


10 


Jacob's Heiress. 


over it was never a beggar’s own and Jacob 
seemed highly pleased at his discernment. 

A gruff “ Humph ! ” was the burgher’s com- 
ment. Its import was so uncertain that the girl 
turned her face suddenly toward him, and a 
rougher word was stopped on his lips. Soft 
yellow hair curled around that most sweet and 
innocent face, while deep hollows under the 
blue eyes gave her a touching expression of 
suffering. She was at least ten years old, and so 
able to reason as well as to suffer. 

“ Ah, well, little one, hunger is soon cured 
with the right medicine. Here is the home- 
door close at hand,” said Van Schendel kindly. 

In a moment or two more he had flung open 
a door, Jacob and the torch disappeared down a 
side passage, while the child w^as introduced into 
a scene of comfort most welcome, but not at all 
unfamiliar. A large room was cheerful with the 
light of big candles in branching brass candle- 
sticks and the red glow of a fire under the huge, 
curiously tiled mantelpiece. All the furniture 
was dark and heavy, but the glancing firelight 
played over silver tankards, quaint mugs and 
jugs of beautiful china, or brightened up 
corners where stood handsome carved-wood 


One of the Peace Council. 11 

-uhests. In the middle of the room was a table 
spread for supper, while the warm air was 
fragrant with the odor of frying sausages and 
waffles, without which life would have been less 
comfortable for one prominent member of the 
Antwerp Peace Council. 

“ The father comes ! Dish up the supper now, 
Dorothy,” shouted the clear young voice of 
Hubert, the son and heir. He thrust away the 
sleek cat with which he was playing, and, 
springing erect, showed himself a handsome lad 
of sixteen with his father’s fair skin, but darker 
eyes and fine cut features. His title to even 
more beauty was made clear just then by the 
entrance of his mother. Vrouw Van Schendel 
wore a ponderous head-dress, a wide ruff, and an 
ample stomacher, yet the most peculiar dress 
could not hide her comeliness. She seemed about 
forty, with a serene blonde loveliness, and that al- 
most insipidly sweet expression we see in some 
old Dutch portraits. When she spoke, her brown 
eyes kindled, all the insipidity vanished, but 
the sweetness stayed. 

“’Tis a dark night, and very chill for the 
season,” she said, pulling a big oak chair to the 
table at the place nearest the fire and giving 


12 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


orders to a rosy maid to set the food on the 
board. It was then that she discovered the 
child, who had been hidden behind her portly 
spouse, and a few words sufficed to explain her 
presence. The vrouw, looking kindly on her, 
bade her sit in a warm nook by the chimney. 
When Jacob and Dorothy had set a crowd of 
dishes before the master, the lady filled a 
trencher with appetizing food and put it in the 
little girl’s lap ; then, seating herself, she bowed 
her head while her husband asked a long bless- 
ing. The child crossed herself and fell to ad- 
miring the fine gold ornaments fastening the 
vrouw’s lace head-dress, not offering to appease 
her hunger until the prayer was ended. 

“ She has decent manners,” said Hubert to his 
mother, noticing how daintily she handled the 
bits of meat with her thin little fingers; then 
they quite forgot her in talking of the day’s 
events. 

A few weeks before our story opens, the Prince 
of Orange had been foully murdered at Delft. 
He had been the controlling head, the master- 
mind of the Netherlands, and there was no man 
able to fill his place, none to whom the people 
would listen as to him, their “ beloved father.” 


13 


One of the Peace Council. 

Fortunately, all his subjects were united in the 
desire for religious liberty, as all were agreed in 
their hatred of Spain. Antwerp at this time 
was nominally governed by a burgomaster at 
the head of a general council of magistrates. 
This general council was made up of various 
boards or “ colleges,” all arrogating more or less 
authority, all wrangling among themselves, all 
strangely blind to many menacing dangers. 
Within Antwerp was insubordination; without 
was the Spanish army. There was a burgher 
militia, brave but indocile ; there were council- 
ors, supposed to be wiser than Solomon ; there 
were citizens like V an Schendel, brave as lions, 
obstinate as mules, ready to fight, ready to die, 
but never ready to yield an inch if conscience 
were at stake. 

We might add that, being by nature ex- 
tremely belligerent in public matters. Van 
Schendel had been put on the Peace Council. 

“What came uppermost in the council this 
morning, father ? ” asked Hubert ; “ and was 
there talk of this wonderful bridge that they tell 
us the duke of Parma will build ? ” 

“Yes,” replied his father, “and the most say 
he will build it from the cobwebs in his brain.” 


14 


Jacob's Heiress. 


“What think you, Heinrich?” asked his 
wife. 

“ That it were well for us to have taken our 
good prince’s counsel and pierced the big dykes. 
Once let the sea roll in to the ports of Antwerp, 
and we could never be cut off from supplies 
from Zeeland and Holland.” 

“ I did but speak of piercing the Blau-garen 
to Vrouw Shelf haut, the butcher’s wife, to-day,” 
said Vrouw Van Schendel, “ and she was like to 
go mad. She shouted that for a city threatened 
with a siege to submerge good pasture-land and 
drown twelve thousand oxen was as wicked a 
deed as Duke Alva himself ever planned.” 

“ So say the many.” 

“ Well, in truth, Heinrich, it does seem woeful 
to make more desolate our own lands, spoil our 
own farms, and do Spain’s work of destruction 
for her,” said his wife. 

“ Better, you think, then, to let the Spaniards 
bridge the Scheldt, cut off provisions, and trap 
us like rats ? ” 

“ But, father, my tutor told me to-day that the 
College of Fortification declare the bridge a fool’s 
dream. They say that when Antwerp was held 
by the Spanish, our prince himself tried to close 


One of the Peace Council. 15 

the river with sunken piles, rafts, and such con- 
trivances, but the first icebergs swept all away/’ 
The Spaniards plan no such bridge, if tales 
we hear be true. Seigneur de Kowenstyn 
declared for piercing the Kowenstyn dyke, and 
surely he spoke in no haste, for his own castle 
and manor are close by to suffer. So angry 
was he, I hear, he will go over to the Spaniards 
because none heeded him : men say he has so 
gone already.” 

‘^’Tis commonly said that this Alexander 
Farnese, duke of Parma, is not the devil, as was 
Duke Alva,” remarked the vrouw, after a time 
of meditation over the possibilities of the future. 

“ Perhaps not the devil himself, but, being a 
Spaniard, surely the devil’s own brother,” re- 
^ turned the good man of the house, taking a 
mighty draught of beer from the great mug at 
his right hand. 

“ But he hath been not wholly unmerciful 
after his victories, as was Alva. I would I knew,” 
she sighed, “ if Antwerp will be a city besieged 
before another summer.” 

“ Oh, ’tis impossible,” remarked Hubert with 
the assurance of sixteen years’ experience, — “ ’tis 
impossible to harm Antwerp. To-day the price 


16 


JacoVs Heiress. 


of corn is four times as high here as in Holland 
and Zeeland. While corn is plenty there, 
what can hinder the fly-boats coming with their 
cargoes? The dare-devil Zeelanders fear none 
of these foreign pikemen. ’ Tis rare sport to see 
them rush their boats under the enemy’s nose 
every day of the week, or so I hear.” 

With talk like this the meal progressed — a 
hearty meal, during whose course Dorothy more 
than once refilled the dishes set before the mas- 
ter. The Dutch were a nation of bold talkers, 
hard fighters, and mighty eaters. Herr Van 
Schendel was a typical Dutchman. At last, 
with a sigh of content, he pushed around his 
chair toward the fire while the table was cleared, 
only leaving a panier of cakes and a supply of 
beer wherewith to refresh any friend who might 
come in for a chat. The vrouw stepped briskly 
about the room, putting away articles of silver 
and a dish or two that Dorothy might not 
handle. 

Hubert wandered to the window, apparently 
looking across the darkness to the lights hung 
out by the neighbors’ doors, but really he saw 
nothing, and did not even heed the sweet ring- 
ing of the near cathedral chimes. He was 


One of the Peace Coimdl. 


17 


pondering how best to get leave to make a 
certain excursion on the morrow, even wonder- 
ing if it might not be wiser to go without 
permission. Hubert was not wayward, but if 
his mother said “ No ” (because she could not 
realize that he, being sixteen, was almost a man), 
his father might say ‘‘ No ” also, merely echoing 
the mother. It occurred to him to speak to his 
father while his mother’s head was bent over 
her linen-chest. She never went to that recep- 
tacle without getting completely absorbed in 
inspecting the beautiful products of Netherland 
skill which filled it. So, patiently waiting until 
he saw her studying something, perhaps a tiny 
stain, perhaps a broken thread, he approached 
the fire, quietly remarking, “ Father, Jacob is 
most anxious to visit his old mother on the 
morrow, and begged me ask if he might be let 
go for the day.” 

“ Pray, my boy, how long since Jacob lost the 
use of that tongue of his and must needs borrow 
yours?” asked the burgher, with a keen glance 
at the handsome lad by his elbow. 

Hubert blushed like a girl with the sense that 
he was less than direct in his method ; then he 
honestly avowed : “ T offered to ask permission 


18 


Jacobis Heiress. 


for him because, father, I wish, beyond all 
things, to go to Kalloo with him.” 

Herr Van Schendel studied the lad with but 
half-concealed amusemeiit, then said : ‘‘ Last 
week a craft fell into the Spaniards’ hands, and 
every man in the boat had his ears chopped off. 
Yours are full long, but I never heard of a 
donkey being bettered by losing those he had 
and the burgher laughed at his rather heavy 
pleasantry. 

“ Truly, and, as all tell me I am the image 
of my father, I would not willingly have that 
image marred,” mischievously returned Hu- 
bert ; adding, “ The craft was no doubt a boat 
from Zeeland with provisions. What would 
Spaniards want of a small row-boat with a 
dwarf and a boy like me?” 

“ But your lessons and the mother ? ” suggest- 
ed the burgher. 

“ I am in advance of the other boys, and, 
father, is there not danger I shall be a milk- 
sop if I be kept ever with a pedagogue and 
a woman, be the one never so learned and the 
other an angel like mother ? Think of Maurice, 
the son of our dead prince. He is but seven- 
teen, and will be put at the head of the State 


10 


One of the Peace Council. 

Council of the Union, they say, and some day 
he will be a soldier as well.” 

“ Verily, as he studied in Leyden, are you 
studying now in Ant^yerp. Your father is no 
prince, but, by my faith, if I thought my son 
would be a milksop, I would want to drown him 
for a sick kitten.” 

Hubert had touched the right string. He 
calmly replied : “ T should like for my own the 
young prince’s motto: ^The twig will yet be- 
come the tree and ’tis according to nature that 
it be of the same wood as the parent tree. I ask 
to be of no better than goes to my father’s make- 
up.” 

“ Out with the boy ! Calling the father first a 
donke}^ and now wooden-headed. Go to Kalloo 
if you must, and keep your eyes well open. I 
l}ave a curiosity to know wLat goes on there 
now-a-days.” 

AVell pleased, Hubert ceased speaking as the 
sweet-faced mother came near to sit by them 
with a dainty task of lace-making. Meanwhile 
the little waif in the chimney-corner had for the 
first time that chill, dark day felt a delicious 
consciousness of physical well-being. Her cold 
feet were almost in the glowing ashes. The 


^0 


Jacoh^s Heiress. 


warm blood tingled in her hands, and oh, how 
good was the savory meat ! how sweet the mug 
of milk and the seed-cakes ! It was not, however, 
strange or unreal to the child. Indeed, when 
a sensation of drowsiness stole over her as the 
last morsel was eaten and she was warm 
through and through, more unreal and dream- 
like was her recollection of the outer cold and 
misery. She seemed a part of her present sur- 
roundings. She had played in a room as bright 
as this one. She had drunk from a silver cup 
of her own. Was the dismal street and the 
queer creature with a flaming torch all a dream, 
or did listening to this bright-faced boy talk- 
ing with his father about a boat cause her to 
dream that she drifted away herself between 
banks covered with spring flowers, in a little 
bark full of gay playmates? The sky was 
very blue, the sun shone, life was beautiful in 
this child’s paradise. 

Every one had been silent for a time. Herbert 
had gone to find Jacob, to tell him of his success 
with his father. The burgher was musing on 
the arguments and theories of the city magis- 
trates, when he was startled by a faint sob. 
Looking quickly toward his wife, he was aston- 


21 


One of the Peace Connell. 

ished to see tears overflowing her eyes and 
coursing down her usually serene face. 

“Louisa! my Louisa!” he exclaimed, “what 
is it ? Have some evil tidings come that you keep 
from me?” 

She shook her head, swallowing another sob, 
and, dropping her work, pointed to the chimney. 
Van Schendel turned in surprise, chahging at 
once to grieved comprehension. The child 
leaned back against the stone. The fair tum- 
bled hair fell away from her delicate face, 
flushed now with heat and slumber. Her 
breath came softly through her parted lips, and 
nothing could be prettier than the picture she 
made with her small hands clasped across her 
breast. 

“Ach! our little Elizabeth! Ach! ach! how 
like to her!” 

Grief gave his voice such a gruff intensity it 
awoke the little maid, who sat gazing motionless 
at them, her eyes full of a misty and tranquil 
wonder. 

Van Schendel, reaching out, drew her impul- 
sively within the circle of his strong arms and 
stroked her soft hair, thinking longingly of 
their little daughter, gone out of the home three 


22 


Jacob's Heiress. 


months before. Vrouw Van Schendel came 
near for a closer scrutiny of this child’s face; 
then for the first time noticed, as Jacob had, the 
texture of her clothing and remarked on it to 
her husband. He, recalling the dwarfs words, 
began to question the little girl. She told them 
her story very clearly, in the manner of a child 
well taught and used always to trustful inter- 
course with such people as she now found her- 
self among. Until two months before she had 
never been a day from her mother. Her father, 
belonging to a company of Netherland soldiers 
loyal to Spain, had been killed in a recent 
skirmish. His wife and Sophie (for this was 
her name) were living in a little town of 
Flanders near which the father was for a time 
stationed when his death left them utterly des- 
titute. This fact Van Schendel readily under- 
stood, for the duke of Parma, himself generous 
and considerate of his army, was totally unable 
to wring from King Philip anything like money 
enough to support the men fighting for the 
Spanish crown. The common soldiers were 
half-starved; the officers (unless Spaniards of 
high rank) fared almost as poorly. In happier 
days Volmar had a brother in Antwerp, a 


One of the Peace Council. 23 

prosperous man ; so to Antwerp the widow made 
her way with much difficulty, for those were 
troublous times in which to go even a few days’ 
journey. Arriving in the city, she found that her 
brother-in-law had died, and his heirs had gone 
no one knew where. Grief and disappointment 
soon wore her out. She died in a temporary 
refuge without knowing what was to become 
of her child. Volmar had been a papist, but his 
wife was suspected of heresy. In her last hours 
she refused the services of a priest, and her 
child was turned out of the convent in which 
she had found shelter. Convents were not get- 
ting richer in those days, and were overcrowded 
with the families of those who were or had been 
zealous for the Church. Sophie was told to go 
to her Protestant friends. She knew of none, 
and Antwerp was full of women and children 
begging bread which they once had in abun- 
dance. Sophie’s story was entirely credible, and 
as she told it so simply, leaning against Van 
Schendel’s broad breast, both the strong man 
and the pitiful woman looked at her with the 
same thought : “ What if we had died, and our 

Elizabeth, so fair and tender, had been turned 
into Antwerp’s streets?” 


24 


Jacob's Heiress. 


A gust of wind and rain shook the casement 
as they looked at Sophie and remembered Eliza- 
beth in her safe little grave. 

Van Schendel spoke first, and hesitatingly. 
Even out of compassion for the waif he would 
not hurt his idolized Louisa, for, “ son of 
thunder ” as he was often called, he was very 
tender to her, and it might seem cruel, this sug- 
gestion of another in ’Lizabeth’s place : “ While 
we had our own there was a soft bed and food to 
spare ; there is no less in the house now, Louisa. 
If she has come here for daily bread, this 
friendless Sophie, the Father in heaven may not 
mean us to turn her away to hunger hereafter.” 

There was pain along with the pity in Vrouw 
Van Schendel’s face, and after a minute she 
answered : “ Dorothy will marry some day. The 
servant one trains early and long is ever the 
best in the house.” 

“ Little maid,” said the burgher, standing 
her on her feet, “ if we tell you to bide here 
until summer comes and the sun shines again 
all day in Antwerp, will you obey your mistress 
yonder ? ” 

“ I may stay until morning ?” asked Sophie a 
little puzzled, and when the good-natured giant 


One of the Peace Council. 25 

nodded, she was sure whatever he might mean 
it was something comfortable and kindly like 
his face. She was not so much at ease with the 
tearful, beautiful woman who had looked coldly 
at her a moment before, but, dropping the 
quaintest of courtesies, she half kneeled and 
kissed Vrouw Van Schendel’s hand. 

An hour later the lady led her up stairs to a 
shadowy room whose wooden ceiling was like 
the under side of a flight of stairs, and whose 
furniture was, so Sophie thought, as grand and 
solemn as if it came from a church. Off this 
was a smaller room, more like one the child 
remembered. Dorothy came then with water to 
bathe the child, and Vrouw Van Schendel took 
from a chest clean old garments once belong- 
ing to ’Lizabeth, and clad Sophie in some of 
them, laying others ready for the morning. She 
was about to ask the child if she knew a prayer, 
when, untold, Sophie knelt on the cold wood 
floor and uttered the same words Vrouw Van 
Schendel had heard so often and missed of late. 
Unbidden, then she crept into bed as if it were 
hers by right. Her eyelids were scarcely able to 
lift themselves over the sleepy eyes. Vrouw 
Van Schendel lingered, her heart soft with sor- 


26 


Jacob's Heiress. 


row, loneliness and pity — for this child only the 
pity. Still, after a moment she bent suddenly 
and kissed her, because she said within herself, 
“ A child’s dreamland may touch heaven ; if 
the angel of her mother comes to her, who 
knows but she could carry a caress to my little 
one?” 

So was Sophie left to peaceful sleep, to dreams 
of no being more celestial than the sallow 
hunchback with his unsteady torch, but realities 
were enough. Jacob had led her into a heaven 
for her quite complete. 

When Herr Van Schendel was left to his 
fireside meditations they soon became profound, 
and by no means cheerful. For the first time 
he had become convinced that day that the 
safety of Antwerp lay in doing what the burgo- 
master urged upon the people as the policy 
recommended by their former ruler, the Prince 
of Orange. This policy was the piercing of the 
great dykes, so making the city easily accessible 
by ships from the Northern Ocean. Failing to 
do this (and there was vehement opposition to 
the scheme), there would be little hope for 
Antwerp if the prince of Parma carried out his 
project. This project was declared by half the 


One of the Peace Council. 27 

people of Antwerp the wildest and most imprac- 
ticable that brain of man could devise. It was 
to throw a bridge across the Scheldt near Ant- 
werp, first having secured all forts above and 
below on the river. Antwerp, cut off then from 
supplies, must succumb. All day Van Schendel 
had striven to show how wise it was to render 
impossible the Spaniard’s plan, and all day he 
had heard nothing but indignation at mention 
of flooding pasture-lands, destroying cattle and 
bringing more desolation on the land. No 
wonder that when at last he went to bed it was 
to troubled dreams, and that next morning he 
was for a moment puzzled to account for the 
merry laugh of a child. 

Sophie was up betimes and playing with the 
family cat. She was a very different little body 
from the woe-begone child of the night before, 
and Hubert was much attracted by her when 
she appeared in the dining-room, which was 
bright with the first sunshine of a pleasant 
autumn day. Warmth, food and rest seemed to 
have filled out the dark hollows under her eyes. 

She was extremely pretty and a fearless, 
happy little girl, not bold, but sincere herself 
and trustful with others. She came at once to 


28 


JacoUs Heiress. 


Van Schenders arm-chair and smiled her morn- 
ing greeting, as if quite sure of a friendly re- 
ception. She tripped about after Vrouw Van 
Schendel, taking the liveliest interest in all her 
motions. While in serene unconsciousness that 
her place in the house was to be that of a ser- 
vant, she patronized Dorothy as naturally as if 
she herself were the heiress to some vast estate. 
Dorothy took all in good part, and confided to 
Jacob her belief that the child would rule the 
house before Easter. 

Several rather queer things came up in 
Dorothy’s domain that morning. Jacob ate 
such a breakfast that when the rosy maid had 
fetched him a third supply from the larder she 
remarked, “Well, for one of your size, Jacob, 
you can do wonders once let a meal-time come ; 
but perhaps you hold a fast for your sins to- 
morrow ?” 

“ Not unless the Spaniards appoint my fast and 
make me keep it. ’Tis this way, Dolly : they tell 
me we shall be all starving in Antwerp some day, 
and I may want just such a breakfast as this 
if I should be fool enough now to neglect it.” 

“But will you have it' any more then for 
eating it now?” 


29 


One of the Peace Council. 

“ Maybe not, but I’ll not have it heavy on my 
conscience that I left anything undone that I 
could have done as well as not,” replied Jacob 
calmly, producing a leather pouch and stowing 
away in it full as much as he had already eaten. 

There was moreover wrath in Dorothy’s 
honest soul when at the sound of Vrouw Van 
Schendel’s approaching footsteps he pushed it 
quickly under the table. She was about to up- 
braid him for both gluttony and theft when 
Hubert appeared laughing in the door behind 
his mother. He had evidently some understand- 
ing with Jacob, for he first showed and then hid 
a pouch like Jacob’s, and one apparently as well 
filled. When Dorothy was next alone with 
Jacob he naughtily played on her simplicity, 
hinting that Hubert was about to run away to 
join King Philip’s army, and that he himself 
was going as his aid-de-camp ; also that the 
Catholics in Antwerp would slay her if she 
revealed the matter. Next he took all back, and 
teased her with the tale of a wife he had wed 
in Kalloo, and who had sent him word she was 
famishing. In the midst of his mischief came 
a call to prayers, for this was a Calvinistic house- 
hold, and Herr Van Scliendel would have read 


30 


Jacobis Heiress. 


the Bible and prayed with his family though he 
were sure of being drawn and quartered when 
discovered in so doing. Fortunately, liberty of 
conscience was not then disallowed in Antwerp. 
Streams of blood and the death of thousands 
of martyrs had secured it in part to certain 
provinces. 

Opening the big volume, Herr Van Schendel 
read impressively a chapter from the Epistles, 
and then all kneeled while he prayed long and 
loudly for himself, his family, the stranger 
within their gates, for his country, and the pres- 
ervation of its rights. Toward the end of his 
petition he grew almost warlike in tone as he 
asked for the utter annihilation of the enemy 
and the overthrow of popery ; but this was an 
age in which earnest men could not be luke- 
warm. Good was grappling with evil in too 
close a struggle ; sometimes the mantle o? 
charity was thrown aside as an encumbrance in 
the conflict. Men hated sinners along with what 
they considered the sin. 

It was not always easy to Louisa Van Schen- 
del to concur with all that her husband uttered 
in his prayers. She was less vehement, and 
perhaps more thoughtful, than he. She had 


31 


One of the Peace Conncil. 

been brought up in a convent, and loved many 
things connected with her early life in “ the 
Church.” Van Schendel had been an irrelig- 
ious youth who had given no heed to Calvin, 
Luther or the pope’s doctrine until the issues of 
the war had made him a thinker. As the days 
went by his thoughts crystallized into beliefs. 

It is not unlikely that Hubert and Jacob were 
inattentive to their devotions, for almost before 
the mother was off her knees both son and ser- 
vant had vanished from the room. They 
hurried to the street, getting themselves well out 
of reach as soon as possible, for Hubert feared 
his father might revoke the permission given 
the night before. It was a more hazardous 
thing than Van Schendel had realized, this let- 
ting his son go where he might suffer indignity 
or run into actual danger. Kalloo was now the 
headquarters of the prince of Parma. One 
half his army of ten thousand foot and seven- 
teen hundred horse lay with him close by the 
village on the left hank of the river, nearly 
opposite Antwerp. On the right bank, ten 
miles below, was Count Mansfeld with the rest 
of his force. But if the burgher was somewhat 
careless, Jacob was not foolhardy. Before start- 


32 


Jacoh^s Heiress. 


ing away in the little rowboat, he made Hubert 
change his outer garments in the shop of a 
friendly tailor well known to them, and put on 
the rough garb of a workman. It was not Hu- 
bert’s first visit to Kalloo. He knew it in the 
past as a tiny, placid hamlet with green pastures 
all about. He had seen the inside of almost all 
its thatched cottages, had played about its wind- 
mills, learned the age of its storks’ nests, and 
had been wuth Jacob’s fat old mother to the 
little church behind the poplar trees. 

Jacob had purposely chosen as miserable- 
looking a little craft as could be w^ell kept afloat, 
and as they carried no cargo they need excite 
no suspicion nor even attract attention. The 
sun shone through a pale amber haze, the wind 
was soft and warm, and Hubert wanted to sing, 
to shout, and to enjoy himself boy-fashion, but 
Jacob insisted that he must act like a dull lout. 
As workmen they would escape notice in all 
probability, for in Kalloo were hundreds of 
carpenters, joiners, blacksmiths, and workmen 
of every sort, with bakers, brewers and butchers 
from Brabant and Flanders, — all hard at work 
the day through. 

When they approached the place once 


One of the Peace Council 33 

familiar to Hubert he was amazed at the 
changes that had taken place. The whole 
aspect of nature had altered. The people would 
not follow the advice of William of Orange in 
regard to piercing the great dykes, but they had 
opened sluices on the Flemish side — a nieasure 
that in the end proved of no good to them and 
gave great advantage to the enemy. Where 
once had been cottages and castles, fine farms 
and lofty trees, now stretched out a vast plain 
of water, above which rose the turrets of castles 
and the tops of trees ; all else on that side had 
disappeared — all the villages for miles around. 
Kalloo was high and dry, or so Jacob insisted, 
but Hubert could only gaze toward it in aston- 
ishment. The’ quiet little hamlet had become 
a vast workshop, factory and dockyard. On the 
Flemish side, near Kalloo, was a strong fort 
called “ St. Mary.’’ On the opposite side of the 
river was another, named “ Philip ” for the king 
of Spain. From these two points a framework 
of heavy timber was being carried out over the 
water on huge piles. 

“ See, now !” cried Jacob ; “ that is the begin- 
ning of the bridge that Antwerp folks tell us. 
can never be finished.” 


3 


84 


JacoVs Heiress. 


“ And I think they may be right, too. Why, 
the ice will sweep it all away when once comes 
the time of icebergs and tempests. Before that 
some other means will be found to destroy it, no 
doubt. Faith, I scarce believed it well begun. 
But however can you tell where to find your 
father’s house, Jacob?” 

“Never you fear my missing it. We will get 
to shore down there by that raft of timber, and 
we must seem to have a hand in some work 
around about. There are so many gangs of 
men that each man will think we belong to 
another gang than his, if you only remember 
to use your eyes and not your tongue. It is no 
harm if any make talk with me, for in these 
days my father saves his neck and fills his 
stomach by hauling wood for the bridge.” 

“ I thought all your family were loyal to our 
prince’s memory and hated the Spaniards? You 
told me as much only yesterday.” 

“And it was the whitest of truths, but my 
father says (and so say I), ‘ Why not work for 
the devil himself, so you fatten at his expense, 
while wiser folks than you are sure his devilish 
work is all for naught and nobody to be the 
worse for it?’” replied Jacob with a grin. 


One of the Peace Council. 35 

There seemed something amiss, or at best an 
absence of patriotism, about this logic ; but 
Hubert became too much interested in the sights 
about him to be argumentative. After landing 
without attracting any attention, they were 
some time choosing a place to leave their boat 
where they would be sure to find it again but 
this they finally accomplished. Then, guided 
by the distant church-spire, Jacob made his way 
to the cottage where he first saw the light. As 
they passed the church they found it the very 
centre of all the activity, the main workshop in 
fact. 

Boys of sixteen are not sentimental, but when 
Hubert recalled the June days he had spent in 
Kalloo, finding then its quiet only broken by 
such soft country sounds as the lowing of sleek 
cattle in the lush pastures or the song of birds 
and the voices of children at play, he found the 
present discords anything but pleasing. Every- 
where were companies of busy workmen, groups 
of foreign soldiers, noisy and brawling, while in 
place of the tiny old footpaths bordered with 
wild flowers was trodden ground rank with filth. 

Jacob, keeping well in advance, led the way 
to the cottage. That too, they were to find, had 


36 


Jacobis Heiress. 


suffered a change for the worse. The simple 
home-life had become merely a question of safe 
existence shorn of all rustic pleasures. Vrouw 
Kiesling, who used to give young Hubert the 
heartiest of welcomes, looked up from her bread- 
mixing as they darkened her doorway, and 
stifled a cry on her lips. Before she gave them 
any greeting whatever she glanced through the 
small window and out of the door. Then she 
whispered, ^‘You risk too much, Jacob, when 
you bring your young master here.” 

“ Not so, I think — not so, mother ; and how 
goes you it with you in these days?” 

“ Badly — worse and worse for a decent body 
liking peace and always having had it. I cook 
for a dozen or more workmen from Ghent and 
Dendermonde. The}^ pay me when they have 
aught to pay with, but it is little they get for 
their work, though I hear it said their pay is far 
better and more sure than the soldiers are hav- 
ing from the Spaniards. They get nothing but 
fine promises.” 

“Which never fattened anybody either for 
war or peace. Well, sorry I am, old mother, to 
see you getting thinner yourself. I hoped you 
were thriving.” 


One of the Peace Council. 37 

She shook her head in a doleful way, and 
soon after Hubert detected Jacob in the act of 
emptying his pouch (which held what was to 
have been his dinner) into a chest beside the 
poor woman. He instantly followed his ex- 
ample, although Jacob tried to push him aside, 
saying, “ You must not. I ate enough for all 
day, but you will famish.” 

Vrouw Kiesling interposed, thrust back into 
Hubert’s pouch a part of the food he had con- 
tributed, and thanked him with tears coming 
suddenly into her honest eyes. It was the first 
charity she had received in all her hard-working 
life. Hubert saw the muscles of her shrewd, 
kindly face work with emotion. She was the 
next moment as unmoved as ever, but she 
eagerly questioned them about public opinion 
in Antwerp. Though only an ignorant peasant, 
she had good sense and refiected on whatever 
she heard. Every day she listened to talk 
among the workmen, and through their talk 
filtered the opinions of those who were super- 
intending the bridge. 

“What ails you of Antwerp?” she asked. 
“ Tell your father. Master Hubert, that men here 
say ’tis easy to see the Prince of Orange is dead 


38 


Jacob's Heiress. 


when you let the Spaniards build yonder bridge 
under your very noses.” 

‘‘ Why, my honest woman,” said Hubert with 
the patronizing good-humor peculiar to youth, 
“let them build. It keeps them from worse 
mischief. Antwerp fears nothing of that sort. 
If we were besieged, wheat is coming in from 
Holland very fast. My father thinks we could 
easily victual the city for a year. The skippers 
from Flushing like no better fun now-a-days 
than to bring us wheat, rye, beef and butter.” 

“ ’Tis fun these Spaniards vow they will soon 
stop,” whispered Vrouw Kiesling, glancing over 
her shoulder, as if afraid of the sound of her 
own voice. 

“Where is 'my father?” asked Jacob, and he 
was told where he could find the old man at 
work ; so, after a little longer talk, they left the 
cabin. Vrouw Kiesling urged them to satisfy 
their curiosity as soon as might be and get 
back to Antwerp. 

They laughed at her fears. Jacob saw no 
reason in them, and Hubert — well, Hubert had 
sagely reasoned out and explained to himself 
the whole state of affairs long ere this. There 
might, he thought, be more fighting, but then 


One of the Peace Council. 39 

times had changed even within his recollection. 
Eight years ago Alva, that fiend incarnate, was 
at the head of the Spanish forces. Hubert, then 
a boy of eight, well remembered the Spanish 
Fury, as it was called, in Antwerp. It was a 
horrible nightmare in his memory. What 
worse could there be outside of hell itself? 
What a scene of fire, blood, plunder, murder and 
cruelties, such as it had never entered into men’s 
hearts to imagine possible ! But now^ after eight 
years, was not Antwerp out from under the 
Spanish yoke? Had not Spain learned a les- 
son ? Alva had gone to his own place (no Calvin- 
ist but could tell where that was), and Parma, 
his successor, was far more enlightened. He 
was not bloodthirsty, even if he was a Spaniard 
He would probably see the folly of his under- 
taking and abandon the whole enterprise. At 
least this had been Hubert immature philos- 
ophy before seeing Kalloo workmen. Just now, 
as he followed Jacob here and there, using his 
eyes according to his father’s advice, he indulged 
in some new reflections. He did not mean to be 
in any way imprudent, but as the day went by 
he grew more and more interested in all these 
warlike activities. He asked several rather 


40 


Jacob’s Heiress 


unguarded questions of various persons in re- 
spect to certain engineering matters that seemed 
to him novel and interesting. Who would heed 
him in that anthill of busy workers ? 

About the middle of the afternoon Jacob said, 
“ There is a fellow who is watching us much too 
sharply. You hasten and lose yourself in a 
crowd, and we will meet at the boat. ’Tis time 
we were off.” 

Hubert instantly realized that he himself had 
been aware of this person’s scrutiny. He knew 
Jacob meant a young man with fine dark eyes 
and olive skin. He resisted the impulse to look 
again to see if he might be in sight, but he re- 
called his intent gaze. Acting on Jacob’s sug- 
gestion, he started toward a gang of laborers, hut 
a moment later was hindered by some one who 
blocked his way long enough to whisper, “ I go 
to warn the dwarf; rejoin him soon and heed 
what I tell him. You are from Antwerp ! 
Trust me,” 

Hubert stared in silent astonishment, then 
caught a significant glance from the stranger’s 
clear eye as he suddenly and loudly reproached 
him for his clumsiness in blocking the narrow 
thoroughfare. Next Hubert, keeping covert 


One of the Peace Council, 


41 


watch of Jacob, saw the young man approach 
and speak with the dwarf. Then he saw them 
separate, meet and again separate as if by 
chance, but evidently in order not to be seen 
talking too long together. Finally, the stranger 
turned down a narrow lane between temporary 
shops, while Jacob, coming close to Hubert, 
whispered quickly, “ Yonder fellow is a Hugue- 
not and hates the Spaniards. He is here as an 
engineer by a chance he cannot explain, tie 
says a soldier once a servant at the castle of 
Kowenstyn has seen and reported you as the 
son of an Antwerp magistrate, and it begins to 
be whispered that you are sent as a spy. They 
now look for you along the shore. Alack ! how 
can we tell if his word and his advice is to be 
trusted ?” 

“ What advises he, Jacob ?” 

“ That you let him hide you until the dark- 
ness comes. He says none yet know we are 
together or just how you came, but going now 
by boat you Avill of a surety be caught.’^ 

AVho knows but he traps me?” queried 
Hubert, more perplexed than frightened, for the 
boy had courage. “ Think you, Jacob, that he 
has a good face?” 


42 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


“ Ay, an honest one, it seems to me, and the 
Huguenots are Protestants,” muttered Jacob, 
greatly troubled. 

“ If he be a Huguenot and not a lying 
Spaniard. What spoke he?” 

“ Poor Dutch,” replied Jacob. 

Half a dozen carpenters bearing a heavy 
beam shouted for the right of way. At that 
instant the stranger again appeared and spoke, 
this time peremptorily : “ Follow me at once if 
you value your liberty. There are soldiers 
seeking you now.” 

“ Go ! go !” entreated Jacob with more emo- 
tion in face and voice than Hubert dreamed 
him capable of showing. 

Half doubting his guide and wholly reluctant 
to follow, yet not venturing to disobey some- 
thing in his tone that indicated sincerity, 
Hubert let Jacob go without protest. He stood 
for a second trying to decide what to do, then 
yielded to an impetuous “Come! come!” and 
followed the young man in and out, here, there, 
wherever the confusion was greatest. So at last 
they came where there was a vast accumulation 
of building materials, but few workmen. The 
stranger went toward a little hut, once the home 


One of the Peace Council. 43 

of Kalloo peasants, now used to shelter tools 
from the weather. Looking about to make sure 
no one noticed them, he opened the door and 
motioned Hubert in ; then, standing on the 
threshold, he said, “ I am sure no one has 
tracked us, and if not you are securely hidden 
until dark ; after that nothing hinders your 
escape.” 

“ Why think you I should be molested were I 
to take the boat now ?” asked Hubert, standing 
in the dim light of the hut and scanning his 
companion from head to foot as he awaited an 
answer. Before the answer came Hubert felt an 
increase of confidence in his companion. There 
was a frank kindliness in his handsome face 
and a ring of sincerity in his voice: 

“Sit you behind that pile of rubbish, and 
none passing the door can see you. Through 
the chinks in the wall you can see if any come 
from behind near enough to hear our voices. It 
is not safe for you to go, because only a half 
hour ago word was sent Bichebourg, the 
lieutenant of the prince of Parma, that a young 
spy was wandering about among the workmen, 
and that he had been recognized as the son of 
an Antwerp magistrate.” 


44 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


“Yes, old Casper Heideck it was, I have no 
doubt, who betrayed me. He belongs to that 
traitor Kowenstyn, and followed the seigneur 
over to the enemy.” 

“Softly, softly, my boy! Am I not in the 
enemy’s ranks?” 

“In them, but not of them, I think.” 

“ No, fortunately for you, I am not, but are 
you a spy? If so, I cannot commend the 
wisdom of those who sent you. The first glance 
I gave you I knew of a certainty that you 
masqueraded in those old clothes. You have 
no look of an apprentice about you. Then, as 
if your disguise were not clumsy enough, you 
must needs fetch along that dwarf, who is as 
conspicuous as a court fool.” 

A little piqued, Hubert hastened to give an 
account of himself. When he had ended, the 
young man told him that he was a Huguenot 
who possessed a considerable knowledge of engi- 
neering. Finding himself a few months previ- 
ously where an avowal of his sentiments would 
have caused his immediate undoing, he had 
simply kept silent. By a curious misunderstand- 
ing he was supposed to be an Italian, and of 
course loyal to the king of Spain. He had spent 


One of the Peace Council. 45 

several years of his boyhood in Mantua and 
spoke Italian readily. Being caught in a trap, 
he resolved to offer his services to the Marquise 
Eichebourg as an engineer until he could make 
good his escape. Naturally, he had thought 
only of getting again to his friends in France, 
but as he talked more and more confidentially 
with Hubert, the idea occurred to both that he 
would do well to go back with the boat to Ant- 
werp in the company of Hubert and Jacob. 
He would be no nearer France, but he would be 
with Protestants. Before an hour had passed 
Hubert seemed to have known Louis Raymond 
long and intimately. He was nine years older 
than the boy, but there was about him a gayety 
of humor, with a dash of recklessness, very fas- 
cinating to one younger. At the same time, in 
his talk about the state of affairs, both in the 
Netherlands and all over Europe, he showed an 
amount of knowledge far beyond the boy’s 
understanding. For this reason, perhaps, the 
conversation after a while drifted from general 
topics to more personal details. Hubert learned 
that the Raymonds were a good old French 
family, of no pretensions to nobility, but for 
generations people of importance in their pro- 


46 


JacoVs HeiresB. 


vincial town. Through the fortunes of succes- 
sive struggles for religious freedom their estates 
had dwindled, and now there remained only one 
country-seat, not far from Nonancourt. There, 
in the utmost seclusion, lived Eaymond’s 
mother, his sister and an aunt. In these 
times of turmoil the ability to live out of sight 
and heed of the multitude was much to be 
desired. 

The afternoon passed rapidly in an exchange 
of mutual confidences. About dark Raymond 
went out for a half hour, and, returning, said, 
“ ’Tis reported that you made your escape in a 
little boat, and were taken on board a craft from 
Zeeland. So far, so good. The night is very 
dark. I have seen the dwarf ; he awaits us 
not far away. I go forth in a moment and 
follow him ; you must come just after, so we 
will reach the boat, and pray God we get to 
Antwerp before the dawn !” 

“By midnight at the latest, or I pity my 
father,” said Hubert. 

“ And not the mother ?” 

“ ’Tis because of her I pity him ; but come, 
what hinders us from starting?” 

“We go this moment; lose not sight of me or 


47 


One of the Peace Council. 

you go astray, for I follow Jacob. We must go 
near enough to touch one another, but it is 
safest to hold no speech as we go.” So saying, 
young Raymond shut the hovel-door behind 
them. 


CHAPTER II. 

IN ANTWERP. 

^^HERE was indeed great dismay in the Van 
Schendel household when evening came 
and the burgher was forced to confess having 
let Hubert go to Kalloo with Jacob. After her 
first words of chiding Vrouw Van Schendel did 
not continue to upbraid him, but her increasing 
pallor made him very penitent. When Dorothy 
saw him leave his food almost uneaten after a 
show of perfect confidence in the truant’s safety, 
she was so greatly concerned that she regretted 
occasions wRen she had disciplined Jacob, or 
tried to with small success. She enticed Sophie 
into the kitchen to amuse her, and watched 
every footstep past the door. It was Dorothy 
who sent the little girl to bed, for poor Vrouw 
Van Schendel had forgotten her existence. The 
goodman of the house, remembering one lost 
child, prayed that the last, the only one, might 
not be taken from them, and through his care- 

48 


In Antwerp. 49 

lessness. A neighbor called, and they talked of 
everything but what was in their hearts. They 
prolonged the evening prayers, and made much 
of every household trifle; but what no one 
thought of doing was going to bed. Dorothy 
gave most comfort by insisting as the hours 
went by, on cooking a second most savory 
meal, declaring the lads would be starving when 
they came. As the great clumsy clock in the 
corner struck one, poor Vrouw Van Schendel 
hurst into tears, crying, “Oh, Heinrich! what 
can have happened to my boy ? Why did you 
let him run into danger?” 

The burgher had not time to speak before 
hurried footsteps and laughing voices — one so 
welcome — broke the gloomy silence. The door 
flew open, and in came Hubert, still clad in his 
rough disguise, and Raymond, manly, attract- 
ive, but just then a little shy, while as a back- 
ground was the broad dwarf grinning com- 
placently. 

“My Hubert, how thou hast frightened me!” 

“And right sorry I am, my mother,” he 
exclaimed, kissing her with boyish ardor before 
he turned, saying, “ I might not have come back 
to you at all hut for the good will of a new 


50 


Jacob's Heiress. 


friend. Let me present to you, mother and 
father, Louis Raymond, a Huguenot entrapped 
by the Spaniards. I think I have not erred in 
promising this Protestant and a hater of King 
Philip a welcome.” 

Van Schendel approached to give the stranger 
keen scrutiny in the light of a hanging lamp. 
He liked his face, and cordially responded: 
“ Promise any good Christian, any lover of the 
Netherlands, a welcome to Antwerp and another 
to our home.” 

“ Christian am I, though not as good an one 
as I might be, and a hearty well-wisher for 
Antwerp’s freedom from Spain,” returned Ray- 
mond, bowing low to Vrouw Van Schendel. 

“ And you, Jacob !” cried the burgher in his 
bluff manner, just noting the dwarfs grins, 
“what think you of the Spanish army?” 

“ I think, master, ’tis ugly enough as a whole, 
but, take it man by man, I have not seen leaner, 
hungrier-looking scarecrows since I was born. 
If needs be, we must fight the souls of them out 
of those bodies into purgatory, but by my own 
empty stomach I could pity theirs. I will have 
them in mind come eating-time once more.” 

“ Don’t bring famine on Antwerp before ever 


51 


In Antwerp. 

we are besieged,” laughed the burgher, adding, 
“ You will all have supper before bed, I think?” 

“That we will, most gladly,” cried Hubert, 
“ and if my nose does not play me a trick, I smell 
pancakes of the sort I like best.” 

“ What sort that is, Dorothy is not ignorant of 
for lack of your telling,” said his mother gayly 
as she hastened preparations for the midnight 
feast. 

Raymond had been given the guest’s chair by 
the fireside, and was accounting for the day’s 
occurrences and the late home-coming. Aware 
that Herr Van Schendel might not receive him 
in such full faith as his young son had done, he 
endeavored without conceit, yet with ready tact, 
to gain the burgher’s confidence. He was 
conscious of deserving it, and succeeded then 
and later. 

“ Draw up to the board,” urged the host when 
the last steaming dish had been put on the 
table. “ I have not been to Kalloo myself, but 
I lost my supper all the same, or my relish for 
it, which is even w^orse.” 

No one needed urging. Hubert, hungry as 
he was, talked incessantly of what he had seen. 
His mother was his interested listener, while 


52 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


Van Schendel conversed with the better-in- 
formed visitor. Eaymond was all animation 
and talked well. After weeks of camp discom- 
fort, the warmth and good cheer of a home was 
in its way as delightful to him as it had been to 
Sophie the night before. He enjoyed his con- 
verse with the burgher, he was greatly charmed 
by the gentle loveliness of Vrouw Van Schen- 
del, and last, but not least, he found his supper 
most delicious. So excited was the little party 
that when at last the pleasant meal was ended 
the good lady was forced to send the family to 
bed, after showing them the face of the truthful 
clock, whereon the}" read three in the morning. 

For a day or two Eaymond allowed himself 
to be treated as a guest, but he had no idea of 
abusing the hospitality so freely accorded to 
him. His plan had been first to escape from 
Kalloo, and next to make his way as soon as 
possible to France, but before he had been a 
week in Antwerp he resolved to remain for a 
time where he was. 

One evening there came to the house of his 
host a caller who interested Eaymond from the 
moment he entered the door. He was physic- 
ally the greatest contrast to Van Schendel, 


In Antiverp. 53 

being swarthy, alert, extremely quiet in man- 
ner, yet with eyes that nothing escaped. Ray- 
mond decided that he was not Dutch before 
hearing him called by name, Gianibelli, yet he 
was evidently a citizen of Antwerp and talked 
of his family as one long settled in the city. 
For perhaps half an hour Raymond listened in 
silence to the conversation, trying to guess what 
was the stranger’s profession. He first concluded 
that he was an Italian scholar of remarkable 
attainments; then he was sure he must be a 
chemist, possibly an astrologer or wizard. In- 
deed, so visionary were some of his ideas that 
Raymond began to wonder if he were not a 
student rather crazed by over-study. After a 
while the conversation turned on affairs in Ant- 
werp, and Van Schendel told him of Hubert’s 
visit to Kalloo. When he mentioned that Ray- 
mond knew something of engineering and was 
able to tell much of the bridge in process of con- 
struction, Signor Gianibelli quickly turned to 
the young man and eagerly questioned him. 
Raymond was surprised to find him more pro- 
foundly versed in theoretic and practical engi- 
neering than any teacher or worker he had ever 
known. All that he himself knew came to the 


54 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


surface, and Gianibelli’s impetuous tones became 
a shade more respectful as Raymond answered 
him in detail. 

“ Listen ! listen ! ” he exclaimed to Van Schen- 
del. “ Our friend here sees what I have all 
along told you bats, you blind magistrates, that 
the bridge is as good as built — this bridge that 
is imposdhility’ I tell you. Van Schendel, 
now is the time to be storing every magazine in 
Antwerp with corn — corn easy to get and easier 
to keep, corn that we will soon see at famine- 
price.” 

“ Softly, softly, signor,” said the burgher. “ I 
am not so stupid as you think ; from breakfast- 
time to supper-time I have plead with towns- 
men and magistrates to do this thing.” 

“ Ay, ay. Well, let them refuse to heed us and 
there will be small need to cease talk or aught 
else because of a breakfast or a supper,” grunted 
the visitor ; and so the evening passed in con- 
versation of this sort. When, upon asking Ray- 
mond about his studies, the older man dis- 
covered that he had spent a few years in Man- 
tua, he was greatly pleased, for Mantua was 
Gianibelli’s native place. He had pulled his 
mantle over his shoulders and risen to go when 


55 


In Anhverp. 

he found that Raymond knew friends, and even 
relatives, from whom he had not heard “ in cen- 
turies,” as he declared. He lingered half an 
hour longer, and when going warmly pressed 
Raymond to visit him on the following day. 

Van Schendel, who had gone to the door with 
him, returned to stir the fire, and exclaimed as 
he sank into his great chair, “ ’Tis a quick brain, 
marvelously quick! The man knows much, 
and that much he knows well.” 

“ Tell me of him, I pray, for his equal I have 
not seen,” said Raymond. 

“ And when you have known him a year you 
will say that thrice as heartily. I trust Giani- 
belli, though he cares no more for a Calvinist 
than a Catholic. I like him, though he is as 
indifferent to freedom for freedom’s sake as the 
stupidest donkey in Antwerp. He went from 
Italy years ago to offer his services to Spain. 
We of Antwerp think him a genius, but they 
of Philip’s court found him a lunatic. His pa- 
tience is as small as his temper is hot. He took 
himself north, and vowed vengeance on the 
Spaniards wherever he might find them. This 
is Gianibelli’s religion, and this also is his pa- 
triotism,” 


56 


Jacob's Heiress. 


“And that being so, cannot Antwerp find 
work for him?” 

“ I think it,” said Van Schendel, studying 
the red coals with a thoughtful face. Some- 
what later he remarked, “ Were I in your place, 
friend, I would go visit Gianibelli on the mor- 
row. Unless you are sore pressed to be in 
France, he might find good work for you to do in 
Antwerp. He has schemes in his head for the 
defense of our city in case of a siege, and others 
still in regard to this bridge of Parma’s. He 
hath oft told me that he lacked for wise helpers, 
meaning engineers, such as I make no doubt 
you yourself may be. Of late he has associated 
with him two skillful artisans here, Bory and 
Timmerman, for what purpose I know not. 
Bory is a clockmaker, and Timmerman a 
mechanician.” 

“ I will see him before this time to-morrow. 
As yet tliere is no place awaiting me at home. 
Once let me know that our Henry of Navarre 
hath need of Huguenot troops, and I go to serve 
under him, but now if I can do aught for 
liberty of conscience here, right glad will I be 
to stay in Antwerp.” 

The burgher nodded approval. Hubert 


57 


In Antwerp. 

glanced admiringly at Raymond’s glowing, 
handsome face, and felt a thrill of sympathy 
with the sentiments that animated his breast. 

Of the two new-comers, Raymond, as was 
natural, attracted more attention than Sophie; 
but little she cared so long as smiles, kind 
words and comfort fell to her share. The 
burgher petted her openly after Vrouw Van 
Schendel had given her certain of Elizabeth’s 
j)laythings. Having gained from him a prom- 
ise that she need never go away if she would 
“ always be good,” Sophie decided she had found 
her home for life. For Hubert she had great 
admiration. He was a frolicsome fellow, and 
would naturally have teased and romped with 
her, but the memory of his little dead sister, so 
like in some ways to Sophie, subdued him and 
made him not ungentle toward her. When she 
approached him with Elizabeth’s wooden doll in 
her arms, he glanced about half abashed, and 
then kissed her. After that she followed him 
like a kitten whenever he was in the house. It 
happened that Ra3"mond first saw her when she 
was singing a gay little song and dancing like a 
sprite for Dorothy’s amusement. She did not 
see him in the door until he loudly applauded, 


58 


Jacobis Heiress. 


and for some reason her wee ladyship took the 
applause in high dudgeon. For several days 
she refused to receive his proffers of friendship, 
although his stories had great fascination for 
her and his merry jests kept her half vexed, 
half excited. 

One morning he found her in the dining- 
room, and cried, “ Come now, little spice-box, 
give me a kiss, and I’ll tell thee of a little 
cousin of mine far away in France.” 

“ Doesn’t thy cousin in France want thee ?” 
replied Sophie with a saucy gleam in her bright 
eyes. 

“ Indeed she does, as much as thou wilt once I 
have left thee to the company of Miss Wooden- 
head.” 

This slighting allusion to Elizabeth’s ugly 
doll was in Sophie’s opinion almost sac- 
rilegious, and she frowned on Raymond so 
fiercely that with a merry laugh he caught her 
in his strong arms and perched her suddenly on 
a wall-shelf almost on a level with his head. 
He loved children, and had no thought of real 
annoyance. His grasp on her was very gentle, 
though firm, but he had bumped the doll 
unmercifully, and Sophie was too angry to 


In Antivcrp. 


59 


reflect that it could have been flung against a 
rock without injury. She scowled and sulked, 
kicking her little shoes vigorously against his 
broad chest. Had they been wooden instead of 
wool, she might have been a dangerous foe, but 
as it was he told her funny tales of France and 
“ la petite Marie,” of her pet dog and her trained 
donkey, at the end of each story teasing for the 
kiss as a token of future friendship. If Sophie 
had been free, she would have yielded, but the 
passionate little creature had become as obsti- 
nate as a whole Dutch garrison called upon to 
surrender without resistance. He ceased story- 
telling, sang her a gay song in the Romance 
language of the South, and, ending, asked, 
“ Wilt thou kiss me now, my little lady on the 
castle- wall ?” 

Utterly reckless, Sophie gave a violent spring, 
and would have leaped to the floor, thereby 
surely suffering injury, had not Raymond 
caught her midway in his arms. He held her 
a second, only meaning to tell her that she 
need not kiss him if she really objected. She 
mistook his intention, and, raising her hand, 
struck him a rough blow directly in the face. 
He set her on her feet, and, looking full in her 


60 


Jacobs Heiress. 


eyes, said calmly, without the friendly “thee 
and thou,” “You are not like Marie: she is a 
small lady, with soft hands that do kind things 
and a tongue only for pleasant words. I want 
nothing from yoit.” 

With perfect unconcern Sophie picked up the 
doll and went slowly kitchenward, where, seated 
on a bench by the fire, she fell into a profound 
re very. 

The young Frenchman grew in favor every 
day with his new friends. They found him ar- 
dent and about common affairs very transparent 
and communicative, yet in times of excitement 
most self-controlled. In regard to those things 
that concerned him deeply he had the reserve of 
a truly sensitive nature. They would gladly 
have kept him one of their household, hut after 
a week or two, although he decided to remain 
in Antwerp, he thought best to take lodgings 
near Gianibelli. After a few hours’ consultation 
with that subtle thinker and practical worker, 
Raymond had yielded to his wishes and entered 
into certain of his schemes for the future defense 
of Antwerp. He received from Gianibelli means 
sufficient to supply his very modest wants, and 
when not engaged with his patron he was often 


In Antwerp. 61 

to be found in the home-circle of his new 
friends. 

In the last days of his stay as a guest Vrouw 
Van Schendel fitted him out so bountifully with 
bedding, linen, dishes, candlesticks, and other 
comforts for the furnishing of his new apart- 
ments that really there seemed nothing lacking, 
as Van Schendel told him, but a ‘‘housewife.” 
He went farther, and offered to present him to 
various comely damsels in the families of 
friends, but Eaymond avowed it was not a time 
for “ marrying or giving in marriage.” 

Sophie avoided him, and Raymond ignored 
her since their late encounter. He thought her 
a pretty but spoiled child. What she thouglit 
no one knew or cared; only Vrouw Van Schen- 
del decided she was of a most fitful temper — 
first gay and heedless, then dull and moody. 
Sophie was a child with a singularly keen sense 
of honor. When the burgher had told her she 
might stay with them as long as she was “ good,” 
the contract between them seemed to her of deep 
significance. She had been trained to obey, had 
good sense, and remembered few times when she 
had been in disgrace ; so, for a while, all had 
gone happily. That day, when she seated her- 


jacoVs Heiress. 


f)2 

self to meditate by the kitchen-fire, the first great 
mental struggle of her life took place. Chil- 
dren in the times we write of were not domestic 
nuisances. Little girls especially were taught to 
be quiet, helpful and courteous. Sophie knew 
that for an offense such as she had committed 
her own mother would have whipped her 
soundly.. She reasoned that she ought to be 
whipped, but in all probability Raymond would 
not tell of her. An intuition told her that he 
had done with her when she was so scornfully 
dismissed. For that she did not care very 
much, but what began to prey on her conscience 
was this : she had not been good ; she had 
broken her promise. The good Herr Van 
Schendel did not know it, and she herself might 
keepdt a secret. She must keep it, or — oh fearful 
alternative ! — she must go out again to cold and 
hunger. Her little heart seemed like to break 
at the thought. To walk out of this warm 
kitchen, bright with Dorothy’s copper saucepans 
and Dorothy’s own rosy face — to put down for 
ever Elizabeth’s precious doll with its pink silk 
stomacher! Instead of good food, fresh gar- 
ments and a soft little bed, to have again dark- 
ness, rain, cold streets, beggar’s food I And oh — 


In Antwerp. 63 

worst of all — to leave these new friends ! to have 
no right to nestle close to Herr Van Schendel at 
supper or to drop sly bits for the fat cat purring 
at her feet ! — to get no more pats on the head 
from Hubert, even to miss Jacob’s good-natured 
leers! How terrible would this going away be! 
But nobody need know that she had not been 
good — nobody. She must hide her secret. 

For four days the child went about trying to 
forget her trouble, or rather what she felt to be 
her guilt, and almost succeeded. Then there 
came an afternoon when she went with Doro- 
thy, who had errands to do for her mistress. It 
happened that they passed what had been (next 
to the cathedral) one of the finest Catholic 
churches in the city. In the time of the image- 
breaking throughout the provinces its beautiful 
carved statues in both wood and stone had suf- 
fered great injury. There were, however, still 
left several fine groups of saints and a few mas- 
terpieces by the Flemish painters of the times. 
Dorothy, urged by Sophie, entered the quiet 
church, and wandered about looking at the old 
tombs, the pictures and whatever of interest 
iconoclasts had left unbroken. Dorothy’s taste 
was crude, but Sophie had a truer sense of 


64 


JacoVs Heiress. 


beauty. In a niche where once had been an 
altar there was a certain figure of the Saviour 
that greatly attracted her. It had not the 
haggard face and meagre form common to 
many similar representations of Christ. This 
face was sorrowful, but benignant, and some- 
thing in the expression recalled to Sophie the 
simple teachings of her mother — exhortations to 
“ be good ” and to remember her prayers. 
Dorothy wandered aimlessly down aisles and 
into chapels, but Sophie, losing all curiosity, 
only realized that she had been bad, had broken 
a promise, and was now permitted to be Herr 
Van Schendel’s little guest only because she 
was deceiving him. Trifling as her offense seems 
to an older mind, it was to Sophie wrongdoing, 
and the desire to hide it was her first real temp- 
tation. In a grave mood she followed Dorothy 
home, and on entering the house slipped 
away from her to Vrouw Van Schendel. 
The good lady was in her linen-room when 
the little girl came in and dropped down at her 
feet by the side of one of those great oaken 
chests in which the house abounded. She 
smoothed Sophie’s soft hair and gave her a kind 
word or two before calling Dorothy by ringing 


65 


In Antwerp. 

a quaint little bell that hung at her girdle. 
When the maid appeared she said, “ Have a 
care that the cakes be well done this night, for 
Herr Raymond goeth from us, and a friend or 
two may be with us to do him honor ere he 
leaves on the morrow.” 

Dorothy respectfully agreed to do her best 
and departed. The clatter of her wooden shoes 
grew fainter. Jacob in some remote region 
could be heard singing, but all about the gentle 
vrouw was peace, except in poor Sophie’s heart. 
Suddenly she flung herself face downward into 
the lady’s lap and broke into such a passion of 
sobs and tears that Vrouw Van Schendel was 
much surprised. For a time she could only 
make out that Sophie must go away ! must go 
away!” and she imagined some friend or rela- 
tive had claimed the child. The fancy grieved 
her, for wdth the soft cheeks wet with tears on 
her hands and the yellow head buried in her 
lap her motherl}^ instincts were aroused. A 
little soothing, a few mild appeals, and Sophie 
got out her incoherent little story. She had 
betrayed her trust, had in staying longer with 
Herr Van Schendel deceived him. Vrouw Van 
Schendel had not much sense of humor, but she 

5 


66 


Jacobis Heiress. 


was moved to smiles at the story of this first 
offence — not so at the struggle between the 
little one’s honor and her grief at “ going away.” 
The womanly soul understood the childish one, 
and then and there Vrouw Van Schendel began 
to love Sophie for her own sake, not for 
Elizabeth’s. She was wise enough not to make 
light of what was real to the little one, but, 
raising her from the floor, she wiped the tears 
from her eyes and said, “ Thou knowest, sweet- 
heart, that thy broken promise was to the 
master, so to him must thou make confession. 
Tell him all, and perhaps it may not go so ill 
with thee after all. He is even now below and 
alone.” 

Still troubled, yet somehow a little comforted, 
Sophie with great sighs and a heaving breast 
crept timidly down stairs. Herr Van Schendel 
sat musing by the window, and the room was 
pleasant with sunset light. Sophie, coming close, 
laid a small cool hand on his mighty one, 
saying, “ I have broken the promise.” 

“ The promise to whom ?” 

“ To thee : I have not been good.” 

“ What hast thou done ?” 

Sophie paled a little, but, fixing her blue eyes 


In Ankverp. 67 

on his, she confessed : “ I was angry. I have 
kicked thy guest. I have struck him.” 

There was a strange contortion of the Peace 
Councillor’s face ; then he asked solemnly, 
“Thou hast not hilled him?” 

“ Oh no — oh no, but he thinks my tongue is 
bad and my hands are bad.” 

“ And thy kicking legs worst of all — doth he 
not ? But come now, little one, let me hear more 
of these strange evil deeds of thine ;” and the 
great Dutchman gathered the child into his 
arms. 

Fear had begun to give place to hope in 
Sophie’s mind, and she was able to describe 
more in detail her waywardness, her struggle, 
and her decision to confess even if she must 
suffer for it. Before she had answered half his 
shrewd questions she had curled down in his 
strong arms and felt sure he would forgive her. 

There was a great rapping on the knocker 
of the outer door, announcing visitors. Van 
Schendel put the child on her feet, saying, 
“ Thou mayest stay here and be our own little 
Sophie if thou wilt tell the truth, confess ever 
thy wrongdoing and try to be good.” Then 
wdth a tender touch on her head he sent her 


68 


JacoVs Heiress. 


away happy as a bird. She danced about 
Dorothy, cooking the cakes, she played with 
Jacob and peeped through the door at Giani- 
belli, who with two friends had arrived. When 
Raymond joined the guests she retreated again, 
and meekly consented as Dorothy said, “ Thou 
wilt eat thy cakes with me to-night ; there is not 
room for thee with the master’s friends.” 

Sophie’s high spirits left her, and she sat very 
quiet while Jacob and Dorothy united to praise 
Herr Raymond and to express regret at his 
departure from the house. 

Later in the evening Sophie crept in among 
the guests. Signor Gianibelli was playing chess 
with Vrouw Van Schendel, and the younger 
men were in lively conversation. Raymond sat 
a little apart thinking of the home from whose 
inmates he had received no tidings for weeks. 
Suddenly a low voice whispered in his ear, “ If 
thou canst forgive me I will be glad. I will 
never kick thee any more, and my hands and 
my tongue will be good ! I am ashamed.’^ 

Raymond slipped his arm around the little 
creature, whispering in return, “ I forgive thee 
and thy tongue, hands and legs. We are now 
friends.” 


69 


In Antwerp. 

A roguish smile played over her face; she 
lifted it and left a light little kiss on his cheek, 
sealing their friendship from that date. This 
evening it fell in with his humor to talk to her 
of his mother, his sister and the little cousin 
about whom she had lately refused to hear. At 
the last they were interrupted by the vehemence 
of Gianibelli. He had finished his game of chess, 
and had begged Vrouw Van Schendebs par- 
don for winning it (he had not lost a game 
since he had lived in Antwerp), and now was 
facing the room, earnestly talking. Herr Van 
Schendel had remarked a while before that if the 
city authorities refused to put in sufficient corn for 
all Antwerp, he and others like-minded could not 
be prevented from filling their private storehouses. 

“ Ha ! ha !” laughed Gianibelli, with no mer- 
riment, but much sarcasm, know you not what 
is this very day talked of by the magistrates — 
you a member of a council too ! — talked of to- 
day, and sure to be done by the Board of 
Schepens before we are many days older?” 

“ Much nonsense is spoken,” gruffly remarked 
the burgher, who occasionally resented the fact 
that the keen Italian learned more of public 
doings than the magistrate himself. 


70 


Jacobis Heiress. 


“ Can you measure such folly ?’’ cried Giani- 
belli. “ Winter is coming, a siege is threatened, 
a famine will follow. In the face of all this 
measures are proposed (or wull be to-morrow pro- 
posed, and, by my soul, I believe will be decided 
upon) to prevent the storing of provisions in pri- 
vate magazines. A maximum will be estab- 
lished on corn, and the skippers who run their 
cargoes through from Flushing at great risks 
will be paid, not according to the law of supply 
and demand, but such a sum as the magistrates 
think reasonable. Tis reasonable that the traders 
leave us to starve, and leave us they will once 
let the ordinance be passed.” 

“We men of Antwerp are not fools,” grunted 
Van Schendel. 

“Some men of Antwerp are not. But what 
of this great floating castle, this tower of Babel, 
we hear proposed? Had ever the gods more 
reason for laughter? A ship, half castle, half 
battering-ram, that shall destroy the bridge and 
end the war, mayhap convert the pope into a 
Calvinist or a Lutheran ! Who knows but ’tis a 
part of the plan?” and, breathless with scorn 
made manifest in rapid speech, Gianibelli 
refreshed himself by a draught of beer. 


In Antwerp. 


71 


“ But the bridge can only be destroyed from 
the water, and how can we get to it by water 
without destructive vessels?” 

“ Ay, how ?” echoed the Italian with a quick 
glance at his two more silent friends, the clock- 
maker Bory and Herr Timmerman. 

They smiled intelligently, and the burgher 
remarked, Men say, Gianibelli, that you are a 
sorcerer. If so, can you not rid us of these 
Spaniards by magic?” 

“By an easier magic could I, as did the 
Egyptian sorcerers, tell how may these Spaniards 
like the frogs go up and come into thy house, 
and into thy bed-chamber, and into the house 
of thy servants, and upon thy people, and into 
thine ovens, and into thy kneading-troughs,” 
quoted the Italian, who knew the Scriptures as 
he seemed to know all lore, sacred and profane. 

“ A poor wizard and a worse prophet shall we 
find you, Gianibelli, but a wise friend to Ant- 
werp, I doubt not,” said Van Schendel, calling 
Jacob to replenish the fire. A little after the 
guests departed and the members of the happy 
household went to rest, none of them as happy 
or as free from care as little Sophie. 


CHAPTER III. 


SUNNY FRANCE. 

“TT was a most beautiful evening of early sum- 
mer. The rose flush of late sunset made 
even more attractive a lovely rural landscape 
of Central France. The red-roofed houses of a 
hamlet clustered at the foot of a rugged hill 
on whose brow was a mediaeval castle. The 
greater part of the huge building was as perfect 
as when its massive towers were flnished, but on 
one side the hill part of a chapel and a banquet- 
hall were in ruins. Some siege had wrought 
havoc there, but time and nature had clothed 
the ruin with verdure, and so with beauty. 

Through the pretty hamlet and across the 
valley ran a rapid little stream. Fields of grain 
and poppies stretched away toward a range of 
hills, while here and there was dotted a wind- 
mill, a church-spire or a group of thatched 
cottages. About half an hour’s walk from the 
hamlet were a few acres of woodland, through 
72 


Sunny France. 


73 


which ran the river, and not far from the point 
where it rippled out again into the sunshine 
from under the solemn shade of the ancient 
trees was a modest chateau- No stranger would 
have taken it for anything but what it was — the 
pleasant old home of a once-well-to-do family. 
Disturbed as were the times, the rich and the 
titled of France lived in a style of great 
splendor. 

Everything about the place was singularly 
silent: no servants idled around the stables, no 
hounds barked, no sleek cattle wandered home 
from the near pastures. There was a neglected 
but pleasant old garden, full of flowering shrubs 
and sweetest roses riotously blooming and lav- 
ish of perfume, but no fair ladies or gallant gen- 
tlemen strayed about its paths. 

The chateau, however, was not deserted. Just 
as the rose color in the west began to deepen 
into violet and all the earth brooded in a 
pensive stillness, two young girls appeared in 
the long avenue of poplar trees that led from 
the main entrance to the road. Both were 
simply dressed; they wore no head-covering, 
and one carried a basket, but they could not 
have been mistaken for peasants. The elder, 


74 


JacoUs Heiress. 


a girl of sixteen, was a tall brunette with 
beautiful soft eyes, and, though graceful in 
movement as a southern woman, she was alert, 
earnest in manner and expression. Her com- 
panion was not yet twelve years old, a ros}^- 
cheeked, sprightly girl with dark hair and large, 
merry blue eyes. She carried on her arm the 
basket filled with white roses, and when she 
glanced at them her blue eyes saddened. They 
cleared again as the soft wind blew the hair 
from her temples, and she could not help enjoy- 
ing the evening glow and beauty. Life for the 
last few weeks had been terribly hard and dark 
in the chateau. It was almost as dark now to 
Jeanne Raymond, the elder girl and Marie’s 
cousin. 

The spring had been very bright and happy. 
First had come a letter from the only and well- 
beloved son of the family. He was in health, 
and hoped soon to return to join the standard 
of Henri Quatre, to whom all the Huguenots of 
France now looked for their future well-being. 
A letter was a great event in those times, and 
the arrival of a second one was most surprising. 
This was, moreover, a legal communication, 
causing Madame Raymond much perplexity. 


Sunny France. 75 

A valuable estate not far from Paris had been 
for two centuries in the hands of Raymonds 
who were Romanists in high favor at the 
French court. By a strange succession of 
events, needless to relate, this branch of the 
family had just become extinct, and madame, 
the mother of Louis, had been informed that 
her son could rightfully claim the lands. This 
news was very welcome, for Louis was likely to 
succeed to little else than four walls, the care of 
his family and a spotless record. For a few 
days nothing but the letter was talked of ; then 
it was utterly forgotten in the trouble that fell 
on them. 

This night Marie suddenly exclaimed, “ What 
of the surprise we were planning for cousin 
Louis, dear Jeanne ? Thou knowest we were to 
have brave new hangings for the dining-room, 
and tapestry to replace that in which old Si- 
mon so stupidly burned holes. Then the dear 
aunt said if we were to be rich and to use all 
our old silver, there would be need of replen- 
ishing the linen stores, and — ” Marie stopped 
abruptly, for the gloom that overcast her 
cousin’s face was darker at every word Marie 
had uttered. 


76 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


“ Oh, Marie ! now that they are gone dost thou 
not see how much worse it would seem to alter 
the old rooms ? What would Louis care for a glit- 
ter of silver on the table and dear mother’s chair 
empty ? If I have my will, never a time-worn 
thing will go until Louis brings a new mistress 
to the home.” 

“ Yes, my cousin : don’t think me heartless. I 
love far better the old, for they have seen and 
touched it; only I cannot help recalling the 
talk, and what we did in those last days when 
my mother and thine read the letter over and 
over, and were for sending to Paster Bercier for 
advice.” 

“ The almond trees were all pink in the 
garden that noon the messenger brought it,” 
said Jeanne, “ and dinner was just served, but it 
was hours after when we ate. We had planned 
wonderful things while the pottage grew cold as 
a stone.” 

A cluster of roses fell unheeded from the 
basket as the two girls turned into a narrow 
path leading to a graveyard, and neither spoke 
for a while. In the mind of each were pictures 
of the two gracious women who lately made 
home-like the now desolate chateau. One day. 


77 


Sunny France. 

as she sat reading her Bible, the elder (Jeanne’s 
mother) had fainted. They had carried her to 
her bed, and she never rose from it. A lingering 
fever sapped her strength, and before they thought 
her dangerously ill she had slipped out of life. 
The day she was buried Marie’s mother, Madame 
Dubois, was taken violently ill, and after a few 
days of delirium had followed her sister. ^ 
“ I think,” said Jeanne as they came in sight 
of the little Huguenot chapel and the graves in 
the soft green turf all around its ivied walls, — 

“ I think I must speak with the pastor again of 
the letter. There was no doubt something to 
be done regarding it.” 

“ If we only could learn where Louis is and 
how to get a message to him!” said Marie. 

“ That is hopeless : we must just await his 
coming, it may be in a month, it may be a year, 
for I hear it said things have not turned out in 
the north as he fancied they would do when he 
wrote that he might come to us and, sighing, 
Jeanne entered the churchyard. 

They sought the two mounds and covered 
them with the pure white roses, weeping afresh 
with the intensity of youth overwhelmed with a 
first great sorrow. So absorbed were they that 


78 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


neither of them heard footsteps over the grass 
until there came a gentle touch on Marie’s hair, 
and Jeanne looked up into the kind old face of 
Pastor Bercier. He smoothed the little girl’s 
hair in a fatherly way, but spoke to Jeanne: 
“ Don’t let thyself get to thinking that thy loved 
ones are here. They are for ever with the Lord, 
blessed and removed from all trouble or shed- 
ding of tears. That knowledge will mean more 
to thee, my child, as the years go by. Now 
come, I will walk home with thee.” 

The young girls rose up quickly and followed 
him. When they left the shaded churchyard 
he began to draw off their minds from their 
affliction by talking of matters in the hamlet. 
There were many Huguenots in and about 
the village, hut no family of rank or wealth. 
Many were tradesmen, and of these a part had 
recently gone away, some to the Low Coun- 
tries, more to England. The majority of the 
people in the province were Eomanists. 

The moon had come up into a sky still faintly 
tinted with sunset hues, and the loveliness of 
the evening tempted the pastor and the two 
girls to take the longest way to the chateau. It 
led them across a meadow and by a little bridge 


79 


Sunny France. 

over the river. From the bridge was a fine 
view of the old castle. Looking toward it, 
Jeanne exclaimed, “ How many lights ! I hear 
music. The count must be at home.” 

“He came a fortnight since, and many and 
merry are the revels held there. A score of 
guests came with him from Paris.” 

“ He is a bad man, father, is he not ?” asked 
little Marie. 

“ He is kind to his own, but he is no friend 
of the Huguenots. The old count, his father, 
was as zealous a Romanist as ever went to mass, 
but he had a softer heart,” replied Pastor Bercier 
with a sudden sternness, as if recalling some 
disagreeable fact or fancy. 

Jeanne, caring nothing for the Count d’Estre, 
began to ask the old man about political mat- 
ters and what he thought of the chances of 
Louis Raymond’s return. He greatly wished 
that he could give her some accurate informa- 
tion. Louis had been absent two years. The 
times were most unsettled. No one knew where 
a letter would find him, and to send a letter in 
those days was to shoot an arrow into the dark. 
All that day the good man had been pondering 
the problem of the future well-being of the 


80 


JacoVs Heiress. 


young girls. In the weeks that they had been 
in affliction he himself had passed through a 
struggle, and had resolved to leave his beloved 
land. In the month to come his wife and he 
were to join a little band of Huguenots who had 
resolved to seek homes in England. He had 
meant to tell the young girls of this plan to- 
night, but they were so sad already he decided 
to await the sunshine. They clung to him as to 
no other comforter. 

He accompanied them all the way home; 
then, yielding to their entreaties, went in for a 
little refreshment. Jeanne hastened to light 
candles, Marie brought out some simple cakes, 
while their one servant, old Julie, bustled 
around for a bottle of wine, glad enough to hear 
the sound of voices. The old man ate spar- 
ingly, but talked more cheerily than he felt; 
then, before going, he read a psalm and prayed 
with and for the orphan girls. They went to 
rest calmed and somewhat comforted. 

The next day life seemed a great deal 
brighter. Julie wisely opened all the doors and 
windows, letting in the perfume of the roses and 
the songs of the birds. The girls went about 
their simple duties, for beyond a little music, 


81 


Sunny France. 

embroidery, and education enough to read the 
psalms and the gospels, their training had been 
in the household arts. About the middle of the 
forenoon Marie exclaimed, 

“Jeanne, there are two horsemen alighting, 
and one is Count d’Estre. He cometh here.” 

“ Thou dreamest, child. The count was never 
here since we were born. He visits not Hu- 
guenots unless they be nobles, perhaps not 
then.” 

“But I tell thee he comes up the poplar 
avenue, and one with him who wears a long 
black robe like Regnier the advocate, but ’tis no 
person whom we know hereabouts.” 

Jeanne ran to see for herself; then, assured 
that Marie had not made a mistake, she awaited 
in much perplexity the arrival of their guests. 
If not an openly-avowed enemy, the count had 
never been considered a friend to the Ray- 
monds, either father or son. 

“Julie will do some most awkward thing,” 
said quick-witted Marie. “ I doubt not she may 
ask him for what he cometh before ever his 
foot touch the threshold.” 

“ Considering his age and rank, it is fitting 
I go to meet him,” said Jeanne, going swiftly 
6 


82 Jacolh Heiress. 

toward the open door just as the two men 
approached. 

The count was a man of sixty, slightly lame 
since youth. For this reason, shut out from 
military life, he had been a courtier. More 
than half his life was spent in Paris — a life of 
scheming, of intrigue and of pleasure. A 
daughter of the Raymonds, a Huguenot, was 
not more than a maid-servant in his eyes, yet, 
seeing Jeanne to be as fair and stately as any 
lily in the near garden, he bent his head in 
courteous greeting. She returned it gravely, 
and stepped back that they might enter. On 
the threshold the count halted, and with an air 
of gracious condescension expressed his regret 
that Mademoiselle Raymond had lost a mother 
so excellent as hers had no doubt been. He 
then presented his companion. Monsieur Colbert, 
an advocate from Paris. Begging Jeanne to be 
seated, he took a chair by the table of the room 
they had entered and asked, ‘‘ Is monsieur your 
brother yet at home?” 

“ He comes soon, we hope,” replied Jeanne. 

“ I would fain see him or some one of the fam- 
ily somewhat older than yourself,” said the 
count. 


Sunny France. 83 

“ That is a thing impossible, for my brother 
and myself are the last of our family ” 

“ ’Tis a matter that must needs be put in 
order, though just now it be troublesome to all 
concerned. Heard you not lately from an advo- 
cate in Paris regarding the estates of one Pierre 
Raymond?” asked the advocate. 

Such a letter came, but little thought was 
given to it, for soon after our great trouble fell 
on us.” 

“ ’Tis better so. I would advise that you let 
the thing not overjoy you. The writer was far 
too hasty. Monsieur Colbert here has come out 
from Paris on this same matter, for Pierre Ray- 
mond had dealings long and many with me. 
Give me, I pray you, the letter. Regnier and 
your good friend Pastor Bercier are to be this 
day at the castle to consider the matter.” 

The count spoke with the calm authority of 
one used to instant obedience, and it never oc- 
curred to Jeanne to do anything but to comply 
with his request. 

She went to a handsome old cabinet where 
her mother kept her few valuables, and found 
the epistle with its heavy seal. The advocate 
opened, read and carefully took charge of it. 


84 


Jacobs Heiress. 


Meanwhile the count had glanced about the 
room and studied Jeanne as she stood before the 
cabinet. 

“ The little one is not a sister ?” he remarked, 
turning at last to Marie, who answered shyly, “ I 
am a cousin.” 

“ ’Tis not well for maidens like you to dwell 
here alone. It is more fitting that you go into 
the home of relatives and await there the return 
of your brother — if he return. In these days 
men dawdle not long about hearthstones.” So 
saying, the Count d’Estre rose slowly by reason 
of his lameness, but not ungracefully, and de- 
parted. Once outside the door, he stopped and 
leisurely surveyed the old chateau, letting his 
eyes wander from it to all the outlying build- 
ings, meadows and woodland. 

The young girls watched them out of sight. 

‘‘Dost thou not think he has a very grand 
air, Jeanne?” 

“Yes, and a smooth voice, but his eyes are 
cold blue like steel. I believe that his polite- 
ness is no more a part of himself than is his 
fine mantle, a-nd that it would be as easily 
dropped.” 

“ Did I not hear thee say thou wast once in- 


Sunny France. 85 

side the castle ?” asked Marie. Tell me, was it 
most splendid?” 

‘‘By no means was it splendid,” replied 
Jeanne. 

“ They tell me the count makes little of this 
place, but that his mansion in Paris is magnifi- 
cent enough for a prince. Wouldst thou like 
life in a palace, Jeanne?” 

“Not I. My mother told me she could not 
without blushing think even of what the court 
ladies in Paris busied themselves with. Al- 
though I am almost a woman, she said it was 
not seemly for me to know aught of life there.” 
Then, seeing by her little cousin’s innocent 
bewilderment that she had puzzled the child, 
she began to talk of a bit of embroidery that 
she was making. 

In the afternoon Marie, who found the days 
very lonely, was made happy by a chance 
discovery. In a cozy nook of an outhouse the 
family cat had hidden four kittens as round as 
balls and as full of frolic as only fat kittens can 
be. The little girl was not proof against their 
fascinations, and Jeanne was left to her own 
thoughts. 

Late in the day there was a step at the door- 


86 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


stone, and, looking up, Jeanne was glad to see 
again Pastor Bercier. He sank into a chair 
and wiped his forehead as if very warm and 
weary, but he refused all offers of refreshment, 
and sat long in meditation before he remarked, 
“I would thy brother Louis were here.” 

“ So said Count d’Estre this morning.” 

“ With no sincerity, though were Louis here 
he could do little or nothing.” 

“ But, father, there is really not so much to do 
that old Julie and I cannot attend to, for a few 
months at least. 

“Jeanne,” said the old man earnestly, “thou 
art not a child now ; thy mother was no older 
when I gave her in marriage to thy father. I 
have a hard matter to open before thee — hard 
and most unjust — but thou knowest (at least by 
hearsay) that justice is not for Huguenots. The 
time has come when thou must learn it by 
experience. Count d’Estre hath by law — such 
law as men high in court favor employ to gain 
their ends, — the count hath laid claim to the 
estates of that Raymond whose heir is by right 
thy brother Louis. This advocate, Colbert, hath 
been in consultation with the one who wrote thy 
inotlier, and hath corrupted him. The letter 


87 


Sunny France. 

surrendered by thee to-day, and doubtless now 
destroyed, would better be to thee as if never 
written. The lands are lost to thee.” 

“Was I in the wrong, father, to give it up? 
The count demanded it as one who has a right.” 

“Thou didst only what any innocent one 
would have done in th}^ place, dear child, and 
the end would have been the same in any case.” 

, “ Well, then, my father, let not our matters 
trouble thee. Can one lose what one has never 
possessed ? My brother had no thought of 
owning these lands, so what will he care that he 
has them not? Moreover, my mother often said 
that enough was far better than wealth for a 
Huguenot family. Wealth gave importance, 
and to be conspicuous is to be in danger.” 

“ True, but right is right. I know that Count 
d’Estre hath this day robbed the fatherless.” 

“ He will suffer most in the end, then, as my 
mother would say.” 

“ If that were all, Jeanne, that I had to tell 
thee of evil !” 

“What? my brother f Louis is not dead? Oh, 
father, tell — ” 

“ No, no, my child ! Not one word know I of 
Louis.” 


88 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


“ Then there is no one left to die but Marie,” 
said Jeanne, exeitement giving way to sudden 
dejection. 

“ Death is not the worst of evils, Jeanne ; sin 
and wrong are far more dreadful. During thy 
mother’s life hast thou ever heard one word of a 
debt to Count d’Estre — of the title to this land 
and house being a disputed point betw'een thy 
father and Count d’Estre’s father?” 

“ Never.” 

“Well, Jeanne, the count now claims that in 
studying records relating to land hereabouts 
and to the other Raymond estate he finds that 
Louis has not a valid claim to one foot of 
land.” 

“But, father,” exclaimed the astonished girl, 
“such a pretension is absurd. The Raymonds 
have lived here for two centuries at least. 
There must be legal methods to prove the count 
a robber.” 

“ He has no right, but from what I learned to- 
day of Paris advocates with courtiers behind 
them I know the count’s gold will buy power. 
It is best that the truth be told thee at once. 
The Raymonds are to be dispossessed of every 
inch of ground they have hitherto called, their 


Sunny France. 


89 


own. Nothing remains to thee but the house- 
belongings that thou canst carry away.” 

“ Carry away f We must leave the chateau — ^go 
away from our homef^ 

“ It is the Count d’Estre’s estate from this day 
forth by such law as men wield when Satan is 
lawgiver. In the three weeks to come thou 
canst remove thy belongings to my house, 
which shall be thine while a roof covers me.” 

“ But, father, I cannot understand. Were 
Louis here could he not resist this claim and 
hold his own?” 

“ He could not. Justice, mercy and law are 
to-day words without any meaning in France 
when used by a papist of the court of the 
Medicis in regard to a Huguenot.” 

^ Jeanne gazed at the old man’s sad face, and 
listened to him with the idea that she was 
dreaming another of the gloomy dreams that 
had come to her since her recent trouble. But 
no, they were surely sitting together in the light 
of the pleasant summer afternoon, the bees 
were droning in the flowers under the window, 
Julie was singing one of her most unmusical 
hymns in the distant kitchen. . 

“ There is another matter that I will talk of 


90 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


with thee later, Jeanne — one that may hold 
comfort for thee and thine. In the mean time 
be not utterly cast down. Remember, God 
ruleth, and he is the God of the widow and the 
fatherless.’’ So with many other kind words 
Pastor Bercier lingered to console her before 
leaving her to realize what had occurred. His 
words were recalled long after, but at the time 
Jeanne was able only to take in one idea : she 
had lost not only her mother, but her home. 

For a day or two this impression of unreal- 
ity haunted the poor girl. She would try to 
fancy strangers living in the chateau, and 
would find herself prompted to go to her mother 
with some household matter. The third day 
Pastor Bercier wisely sent his good wife to her. 
A more unworldly man than the Huguenot 
pastor never existed. He was very indignant at 
Count d’Estre for his injustice, but the loss of 
houses and lands was in itself a small matter to 
him. It was well for him that Madame Bercier 
was one of the most frugal, industrious and 
knowing of housewives. She was also a merry- 
hearted little body in bright days and a trusting 
one in dark times. 

She came bustling in one morning with a 


Sunny France. 91 

smile for Marie and a laugh outright at the 
kittens. 

Jeanne cried: “Oh, dear Madame Bercier, I 
am so glad to see thee ! It has just come to me 
what the kind pastor said, but we cannot 
burden you with our support. Thou art not 
rich.” 

“ Jeanne, ’tis of all this I have come to talk.” 
She stopped a moment to look about the room, 
and suddenly resumed : “ This has been a 
bright home, and many memories are thine own 
that none can take from thee; but, Jeanne, in 
days to come it would be a sad place, lacking 
ever the forms and faces of the mother and 
aunt. The property has been wrung from thee 
by wrong, but a home can be elsewhere bright- 
er, and in time as dear to thee.” 

Jeanne’s heart had been full of gratitude for 
the refuge offered her by the pastor, yet while 
madame talked she could not but contrast his 
very humble home with the chateau. 

“ And now, dear child, I have somewhat to say 
that will much surprise thee. Hast thou ever 
heard of Canterbury?” 

“’Tis a city of England, is it not?” replied 
Jeanne. 


92 


Jacob's Heiress. 


“A most fair city, I am told, with a wond- 
rously beautiful cathedral, out of which devout 
men have cast images and relics of false saints, 
where mass is no longer said, but where Protest- 
ants worship God in spirit and in truth. A 
part (not the finest — in faith; ’tis the crypt, I 
believe) has been given to the Huguenots for a 
place of worship; and in this same city our 
people abide in great peace compared to their 
condition in France. Many of them are trades- 
men and work at their trades with much profit.” 

“Yes,” assented Jeanne, wondering a little 
that the good lady did not better understand 
how her own affairs were filling all her 
thoughts in these days. What was Canterbury 
to her, or the profit of tradespeople? 

“ More of my husband’s friends are now in 
Canterbury and in Leyden than are in France.” 

“ And Julie says,” suddenly exclaimed Marie, 
dropping the kittens on the floor, “ that a 
number more are going to England very soon, 
and that they want Pastor Bercier to go with 
them.” 

“He has consented to go by the middle of 
July, and now, children, we want you to join 
us. — I have come to-day, Jeanne, to plan with 


Sunmj France. 93 

thee. Thou knowest we have no child but 
.Bertrand. Oh, how often have I wished for 
daughters ! and now God has given thee into our 
care. We will seek together this new country 
and make a happy home for ourselves. When 
Louis returns or when one can reach him by 
letter, we will welcome him to a place with no 
sad memories. Now, Jeanne dear, thou canst 
take thy mother’s treasures with certain house- 
stuff, as lin^n and the like, but of the heavy and 
cumbersome things none can be carried. ’Tis 
not pleasant to sell them, but turned into 
money the gold will serve thee well some time.” 

The little bright-eyed woman’s voice was so 
eagerly sympathetic and her words so well 
chosen that Jeanne’s fancied future seemed to 
change as a dark landscape brightens when the 
sun comes out over it from heavy rain-clouds. 
Her life had been very monotonous. She had 
never been a league from home. If the dear 
old chateau must have strangers within its 
gates, it would indeed be pleasant to get far away 
from the knowledge, or at least the evidence of 
it. 

“But, dear Madame Bercier, disguise thy 
benevolence as thou inayest, the adding of two 


04 


JacoVs Heiress. 


more to thy household will cost, and we know 
the good pastor’s treasures are chiefly in heaven^ 
The gold he hath on earth he ever divides 
with others so generously he may be himself 
straitened hereafter for bread.” 

“ I am right glad, Jeanne, thou speakest 
plainly out, for I can tell thee all I plan, and 
’tis not to let thee feel thyself or Marie to be 
dependent. First, the Huguenots of Canterbury 
are, many of them, friends and relatives of ours. 
They have sent for us. Already are they work- 
ing in silk and in other well-paying industries ; 
taxes are lighter and food cheaper in England 
to-day than in France. Queen Elizabeth loveth 
not too well such Protestants as are not of the 
English Church, still she protecteth quiet folk 
like ours. My husband hath been promised a 
better living than ever he had here. Now, 
Jeanne, thou hast raiment enough for years, 
and so has Marie from her mother’s stores. We 
will of the best lay aside linen and silver for 
marriage portions; then, dear, the Raymond 
silver and portable household possessions that 
thou couldst bring for daily use would be, I 
confess, most welcome, for we ourselves buy 
never new, and the pastor has long ago parted 


95 


Sunny France, 

with about all he could sell and give to the 
poor. ’Tis very worldly in me, but I dearly 
love well-set boards, full linen-chests and the 
like.’’ 

How soothing and prosaically interesting were 
these homely details after weeks of tension and 
gloom ! Before the pastor’s light-footed wife had 
been an hour in the house she was looking with 
the girls over their household treasures, explain- 
ing details of their journey — that long wonder- 
ful pilgrimage, first to Rouen, then to the sea- 
port, and across the perilous Channel to Dover. 

No Raymond save Louis had ever been so 
far from home, at least to Jeanne’s knowledge. 
Excitement brought out a rich red glow on her 
cheeks, and her eyes were once more brilliant 
with youthful animation. 

“Thy blessed mother, Jeanne, is in the land 
of perfect happiness, so think it not wrong to 
take heart again and make life bright for thy- 
self and Marie. ’Tis what she would have thee 
do,” continued Madame Bercier, unfolding cer- 
tain wide breadths of curious drapery that 
Jeanne had showed her, and instantly crying 
out in admiration at the curious fabric into 
which were woven rare colors and threads of 


JacoVs Heiress. 


96 

gold: “’Tis Peter the Hermit and the starting 
of the first crusade. I have seen elsewhere the 
same design. Jeanne, in the little home here 
we had never a salon fit for guests, only the one 
room besides the bed-rooms and kitchen. With 
all thy riches w^e will make a most beautiful 
home in Canterbury.” 

A less sincere soul would have offered Jeanne 
only sympathy, and it may be talk of spiritual- 
ities. Madame’s honest gladness that Jeanne 
had goodly piles of linen and many things they 
could enjoy together was a practical proof that 
Jeanne would not be regarded by her as an 
object of charity. Madame Bercier spent the 
day, and if, when she left the young girls at 
night, Jeanne seemed to herself to have closed a 
chapter of her life-book, she felt a new interest 
in the pages still unread. 

There was time for nothing in the days that 
followed but work from dawn until dark. It 
may have been that Count d’Estre expected 
litigation and rebellion to follow his unjust 
claims on the chateau, for he acknowdedged to 
the mean-spirited advocate of the little village 
that this peaceful flitting of the occupants sur- 
prised him. A remnant of shame, too, may 


97 


Sunny France. 

have been left in* him, for many things that 
Jeanne and Marie girls were not able to take 
with them were bought by the count’s agent, 
and the sum returned was double what thrifty 
Madame Bercier had dared to hope for. Such 
a help and friend had madame become that 
already the young girls seemed to have found 
in her a second mother. 

When all was in order there was a little time 
to go from house to house bidding good-bye to 
lifelong friends. Marie had fits of passionate 
grief at leaving certain little playmates, but, on 
the whole, her keen interest in the coming 
journey and the new sights and scenes excited 
similar emotions in her older cousin. 

The day they were to leave the chateau for 
ever the two girls, having wandered alone 
through the dismantled rooms, went sadly into 
the sunny old garden. How peaceful all the 
landscape seemed ! and how pleasant the weed- 
grown walks among the roses! 

“ It is wicked I it is shameful !” exclaimed 
Jeanne with passion. “We might have lived 
here all our lives. Louis would have come 
home. Some day he would have married ; then 
there would be little cliildren to play here as we 


98 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


have played. Raymonds have been here for 
two hundred years, and should be for centuries 
more.’^ 

“Jeanne dear,” broke in the deep voice of 
Pastor Bercier, “I have come to show thee a 
strange thing. In the long course we often see 
that all things (even wrong and injustice) work 
together for good to those that love God. To-day 
I see it most wonderfully manifest. The count 
has turned thee out of France into a new home 
made ready for thee. Had he not done it, worse 
would have befallen thee. News cometh this 
day of an edict of Nemours. All other edicts 
of religious peace or toleration toward Hugue- 
nots are revoked. Those who stay in France 
will be forced to give up their religion or die on 
the gallows. Their property will be confiscated, 
and they are to-day stripped of all honors, 
offices and privileges. There is no choice but 
the Roman Catholic creed or perpetual exile for 
the Protestant. To stay here would have been 
an impossibility for thee had there been no 
Count d’Estre. As it is, we are saved hot haste, 
confusion and some loss.” 


CHAPTER IV. 

ANTWERP AGAIN. 

JT was a sunny morning early in March, 1585,- 
and one peeping again into the house of 
Burgher Van Schendel would have seen no 
change. Every room was as spotlessly clean as 
ever, as bright and as cheerful. In the kitchen 
there was the same array of copper saucepans 
and homely utensils polished to the brightness 
of gold and silver. But if the place itself was 
unchanged, there was a difference somewhere. 
For one thing, Dorothy had gone. The rougher 
work of the house was now done by Jacob, and 
the lighter tasks by the good vrouw herself. In 
former times the cooking for the family had 
been by no means a “ light ” affair, but herein 
was indeed a change, a most ominous and ter- 
rible one. There were no odors of savory meats 
or dainty cakes, no frying, boiling or stewing 
of fish or game in these days. It had come to 
be a simple question of what would keep the 
family from starvation — on how little they could 

99 


,100 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


live, and where that little was to come from. 
Van Schendel was not poor, and before such 
action became an impossibility he had stored his 
warehouses with grain in anticipation of this 
time of need. But when the stress came the 
big-hearted patriot could not see his neighbors 
starve, and that which would have been enough 
for a few was scant supply for many. Dorothy 
had been sent out of Antwerp while flight was 
feasible. Jacob had been, for his own good, dis- 
missed, but had refused to go. The state of 
affairs in the city can be told in few words : Six 
months before the people had their fate and 
that of Antwerp in their own hands, but they 
would not believe that danger impended. 
When too late they resolved to do what had 
passed out of their power to accomplish. The 
great dyke Kowenstyn, which the butchers of 
Antwerp had refused to destroy, was covered 
with Spanish fortresses, now black with Spanish 
cannon. All communication with friendly prov- 
inces was cut off, and, most terrible of realities, 
there was Parma’s bridge, magnificent in its 
solidity. Day by day for long months the 
Spanish prince had seen it grow until now his 
marvelous undertaking was complete. It was 


Antwerp Again. 


101 


stronger than the North Sea, stronger than the 
icebergs, and every Antwerp citizen had heard 
of Parma’s message : “ Tell the people that the 
siege will never be abandoned, and that this 
bridge will be my sepulchre or my pathway into 
Antwerp ” 

This’ bright morning in March, Vrouw Van 
Schendel sat musing on many things ; her work 
was in her hands, but her fingers were idle. 
She wondered if she had been obstinate in re- 
fusing months previous to leave the city with 
Hubert and Sophie. She had meant to do right, 
but she could not leave her husband, while Hu- 
bert declared with scorn that he was no pam- 
pered child, but was almost a man, an Antwerp 
citizen. He would not run for fear of what 
might come. Near the lady sat Sophie. She 
had lost something of her restlessness and 
vivacity, but had gained in sweetness. It 
grieved the vrouw that she was both pale and 
thin. No one in the house had actually suffered 
for food yet, or so Vrouw Van Schendel believed, 
but each one’s portion was simple and meagre. 
She did not know that the burgher, when her 
back was turned, robbed himself for Sophie or 
restored to the dish untasted morsels. 


102 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


Little Sophie was very patient and unselfish. 
Never oifce since Hubert gave her a hint had 
she teased for more or asked for anything 
between meals. 

To-day she gravely remarked, ‘‘ I am glad 
that my child hath a wooden stomach, for if she 
had one of flesh she would ask me for my 
broth.’^ 

“And my little Sophie needs all her own 
broth,” said the lady with a faint smile. 

“ Dost thou not wish Sophie had wood inside 
her, and there would be more food for the rest ?” 
asked the child. 

“ No, no, little one. I only wish there was 
more for thee.” 

“Was it not most unkind of my cat to run 
away into the streets and never come again, 
when I shared all with her?” asked Sophie. 

“Somebody found and kept her perhaps, so 
she could not return.” 

“ Will she be hungry?” 

“ No, never again,” replied Vrouw Van Schen- 
del, so confidently that Sophie was comforted, 
never knowing, as the lady knew, how every 
cat, dog and captured ^at was becoming much- 
prized food in Antwerp. 


103 


Antwerp Again. 

The sunshine streamed in at the windows, 
and, falling on Sophie’s yellow curls, brighten- 
ed the little figure with the quaint doll into a 
pretty picture. Vrouw Van Schendel’s heart 
grew warm within her as she reflected that her 
own little girl would never know want. She 
felt herself glad to be able in a measure to 
shield and comfort another mother’s darling. 

There was a step at the door, and Van 
Schendel entered. Perhaps in his wife’s eyes the 
good burgher had always been handsome, even 
when very fat and' florid, but never had he 
looked as well as now, for all superfluous flesh 
had vanished. Moreover, there was a new 
gentleness with much gravity in his manner, 
that once had been impetuous and overbearing. 
The moment he was in his own chair Sophie 
hastened to seat herself with him, tucking the 
ugly doll snugly under his ear. 

“Is aught that is new talked over in the 
city?” asked his wife. 

“Nothing, sweetheart. I did but come from 
Gianibelli’s house, and he rages like one beside 
himself” 

“ Wherefore ?” 

“He demanded of the senate a while ago 


104 


Jacob's Heiress. 


three great ships from the fleet, the Orange, the 
Post, and the Golden Lion, and with them also 
fifty or sixty scows. Having these, he vows he 
might save Antwerp.” 

“ What think you ?” 

“ That he might have them had I the power 
to give them. The senate listens to his plans 
and half approves, then opposes; but it has 
granted him two smaller boats and with them 
Gianibelli alone knows what he will do.” 

“ Raymond ? Does he not have the ‘ wizard’s ’ 
full confidence?” asked the vrouw. 

“ That he has. The two are ever together, or 
the four rather, for Bory and Timmermann are 
helpers also.” 

“We see less of Raymond than I could wish.” 

“ He bade me tell you that he had letters from 
his home. They have made him a little home- 
sick,” returned Van Schendel, starting so sud- 
denly that Sophie’s doll turned a somersault 
and struck on her hard head. 

The startled group looked toward the kitchen 
door, which Jacob had burst open most violent- 
ly. Usually the dwarf was very mannerly, but 
this morning he broke into an exultant laugh 
and stood grinning with delight. He held the 


105 


Antwerp Again. 

skirt of liis course blue frock gathered up like a 
pouch, and hurried toward Vrouw Van Schen- 
del to show its contents — two handsome great 
fish. The excitement produced was all Jacob 
could desire ; he shuffled and giggled, gloated 
over the treasures and beamed on his friends. 

“ Oh put them in water, Jacob ; they are 
choking,” cried Sophie. 

“ Put them in the frying-pan,” stuttered Jacob, 
replying to Van Schenders question of where in 
all the town he got such delicacies : “ Oh, my old 
mother managed it, she and a fisherman and 
— never let us ask who the other one was, so it 
was not the devil himself. — I go to clean them, 
my lady,” and Jacob made a triumphant exit. 
A second after he thrust into the doorway his 
big head, modestly suggesting, “ I met the 
French gentleman. I showed him my prize.” 

“ Since it is your prize, good Jacob, I do not 
ask a guest to help enjoy it,” laughingly said 
the burgher. 

“ And since Jacob is a servant it ill becomes 
him to invite guests for his own master,” re- 
turned the dwarf ; “ but might not Sophie go bid 
Monsieur Raymond come dine with you?” 

“ She will gladly go, and we will welcome him 


106 


Jacobis Heiress. 


right heartily,” said the lady of the house, pre- 
paring to get ready with pleasure something 
worth calling a meal. 

Sophie hastened to throw over her head a 
pretty kerchief, and tripped away to find her 
“ cousin Louis,” for so she now called Raymond. 
It was only a little way to the Grand Place, 
where, in a simple apartment in an old house, 
the young man lived most frugally. Stopping 
for nothing, the little girl turned under an arch- 
way, and was rushing up stairs when Raymond 
exclaimed, “ Not so fast, ma petite, or thou wilt 
quite run over me.” 

Breathless with eagerness, Sophie delivered 
her message. The invitation to dinner was 
instantly accepted, while Sophie persisted, 
“ Come now, dear cousin. A walk with thee is 
so pleasant, and ’tis long, oh so long! since I 
have seen thee.” 

“ At least five days,” laughed Raymond, tak- 
ing her little hand in his and turning into the 
street with her. When once in the sunshine 
they loitered along, chatting of everything that 
interested either of them. At first it was the 
fine great hotel de ville, or town-hall, that had 
just beexi restored after its partial destruction 


Antwerp Again. 


107 


by the Spaniards twenty years before. Next it 
was a bird’s nest in the branches of a tree whose 
tender green leaves were just unfolding. The 
grass in the place was already spring-like in 
hue and quantity, although to Raymond the 
season seemed not far advanced. He told 
Sophie that often at home he had seen the beau- 
tiful almond trees in bloom at that time of year. 
Sophie knew already of those fair pink blossoms : 
she could have told almost everything in and 
about that old chateau in Southern France, for 
she had asked so many questions. 

“ I have this very day written io the dear 
mother that, God willing, I will return to her 
soon. I think we will not be caged up here in 
Antwerp many more weeks, but will get liberty 
to fly abroad.” 

“ But thou wilt come again to see us, and wilt 
thou not bring a cousin Jeanne or Marie, and 
shall I not go visit thy family some day?” 

“ Let us hope for great things,” replied Ray- 
mond with rather evasive heartiness, and the 
tone more than the words satisfied Sophie, who 
asked, “ Did they send thee a letter from 
France?” 

“ That they did, and such a welcome and pre- 


108 


Jacob\s Heiress. 


cious one ! Three months was it in getting to me, 
and it found me by a miracle almost. Thou 
shalt hear it read to Vrouw Van Schendel, and 
know of Jeanne’s birthday fete, of little Marie’s 
rabbits, of a freshet that tore away the bridge 
over the river, of a wonderful journey our good 
pastor Bercier made to Paris, and how he by 
strange chance did see the king; and what 
thinkest thou his royalty wore?” 

“ A crown of gold and diamonds,” exclaimed 
Sophie. 

“ Not so, but a little velvet cap on his pretty 
curls, and hanging from his neck a little basket 
full of puppies — this royal fool of a Valois!” 

“ Is he thy king ?” 

“ Not he ! The Huguenots’ king is Henry of 
Navarre, uncrowned as yet, but France awaits 
him.” 

“Oh, my cousin, we have fish for dinner,” 
was Sophie’s next irrelevant but joyous exclama- 
tion as they came in sight of Van Schendel’s 
hospitable mansion. “ Jacob got it nobody knows 
where, and mamma says that Jacob shall not 
serve us as usual, but shall have his own very 
big portion, and shall eat when we eat ; only, 
Jacob will have it at his own place in the 


Antiverp Again. 109 

kitchen. He would not be at fease elsewhere, 
mamma says.” 

With that Hubert flung wide open the door 
and warmly greeted the guest. 

“ There surely can be no greater proof of love 
in these days than for one friend to ask another 
to eat with him,” laughed Eaymond ; while 
Sophie on the very threshold began to dance, 
crying, “Dost thou not smell those beautiful 
fish, my cousin?” 

“ Thou little gourmand !” cried Van Schendel. 
“ To-day thou wilt not mourn thy cat, for thou 
canst eat her share.” 

“Welcome again,” said Vrouw Van Schendel, 
coming to greet Louig. “ I am glad to see you, 
and very glad to learn that you have letters 
from home.” 

“ Yes, one from the mother and sister, with 
another from a good friend, our pastor Bercier, 
a man to make one believe in goodness even in 
France.” 

“ Thou hast but a poor opinion of thy coun- 
try,” said the burgher. 

“Not so of France; ’tis as goodly a land as 
God ever made. But hear what one high in 
power ‘there saj^s of society under Henry of 


110 


JacoVs Heiress. 


Valois : ^ There is no more truth, no more justice, 
no more mercy. To slander, to lie, to rob, to 
steal,- — all things are permitted save to do right 
and to speak the truth,’” replied Raymond 
earnestly. 

“ Like king, like people,” commented Van 
Schendel. “ What else could be with a monarch 
who loves, they say, to wear silken flounces, a 
jewelled stomacher, to paint his cheeks, bare his 
breast and put on all a woman’s daintiest gear ?” 

“ Would France be any better off were Henry 
of Guise to gain the throne?” asked Hubert, 
who liked to get Raymond excited over the 
matters that were of deepest interest to him. 

“What answer to th'at question can you 
expect from a Huguenot, if you reflect that it 
was Henry of Guise whose greatest achievement 
has been the massacre of St Bartholomew, for all 
the details of that plot were of his devising ?” 

“You have never told us, Louis, how it fared 
with your family that terrible day,” said 
Hubert. 

“ My father,” replied the young Frenchman, 
“ had gone to Paris for the first time in fifteen 
years. He never returned, and the exact man-, 
ner of his murder we could not ascertain. 


Ill 


Antiverp Again. 

But one man living on the street, a Huguenot 
and also a stranger, escaped death. He told of 
the slaughter about daybreak of every man, 
woman and child in the house where my father 
was the guest of Huguenots. Their headless 
bodies hung from windows; gateways were, 
blocked with dead and dying ; doors were 
smeared with gore, while human fiends dragged 
bodies through the blood-slippery streets to 
the Seine. The massacre spread throughout all 
France, but in God’s mercy our little hamlet 
was spared. Count d’Estre is the only person 
living there of any importance. He was absent. 
The Catholics are a simple and poor people, and 
so small is the place, that families have inter- 
married even with Huguenots, and there is not 
the enmity common elsewhere between the two 
parties. Pastor Bercier once told me the reason 
for this. The old priest of our hamlet is a mild 
and kindly creature. He received instructions 
what to do with heretics, but he pretended not 
to understand them, and the slaughter was 
stayed before it reached us from without. No- 
body wants his place, which is a very poor one, 
else he had suffered for his lukewarmness.” 

“ ’Tis not clear to me,” said Hubert, “ why 


112 Jacobis Heiress. 

the Netherlands want to ally themselves to 
France.” 

‘‘That is because you see but one side,” 
replied his father. “ France is not the court, 
and even this puppet of a king hath kept good 
faith with the Protestants. — You Huguenots 
have had for eight years the religious freedom 
you asked for. We need France to help us 
against Spain.” 

“ Yes, the Huguenots declare that Henry will 
keep his word, but I doubt it,” said Kaymond. 
“ I cannot hope aught for you here in the 
Netherlands if your scheme for annexation with 
France succeeds. England is your true friend, 
if I mistake not.” 

“ Our envoys are now in Paris, and what 
the outcome will be God only knows. If Eng- 
land would help us, why doth she so hang 
back?” 

“ Because her king is a queen, and none ever 
knoweth what next with her,” laughed Ray- 
mond. 

“ A most stingy queen,” muttered the burgher j 
and at that Vrouw Van Schendel announced 
that the feast was ready. A very modest repast 
it was, without side-dishes or sweets, wines or 


113 


Antwerp Again. 

cake; but hunger is the sovereign sauce, and 
Jacob’s fish were enjoyed to the utmost. 

The table-talk was of more cheerful matters. 
Young Raymond made them almost fancy they 
had been in the sunny valley and spent hours 
in the homelike chateau. Vrouw Van Schendel 
liked to know the details of housekeeping where 
the customs were quite different. Hubert half 
envied Raymond when he gave enthusiastic 
accounts of his boyhood days spent in rural 
sports, in the woods, and on the river. All his 
listeners felt an increase of respect and liking 
for the young Frenchman when with tearful 
eyes he talked of his lady mother, her faith 
under the shock of his father’s murder, her 
gentleness, yet her bravery — her words when 
news came of the massacre and reports that 
every Huguenot was to be slain: “Children, 
the time may come when we must die for our 
faith, but, remember, there can never be a time 
for us to deny it and live.” 

“Father,” asked Hubert when the meal was 
ended, “you never like to consider that Ant- 
werp can fall again to the Spaniards, but if it 
should, what then?” 

“Then, beyond a doubt, worship according to 
8 


114 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


Protestant forms will be prohibited; perhaps 
our property will be forfeited ; possibly we may 
be allowed to go in peace to some Protestant 
province. I think we would seek a home in 
Leyden.” 

“ There are many Huguenots there, are there 
not?” asked Raymond. 

“ Many Protestants from all countries,” replied 
Van Schendel. 

There was a half hour more of conversation, 
and then the burgher sent Hubert with a 
message to a distant part of the city. Vrouw 
Van Schendel w^ent about some house duty, and 
Sophie followed her. . The magistrate and the 
young engineer, left alone, began a somewhat 
more confidential discourse about matters care- 
fully kept secret lest the enemy should get wind 
of what seemed Antwerp’s last hope. Indeed, 
few people, even in the city, knew of Gianibelli’s 
having any scheme whatever. Herr Van Schen- 
del had awaited patiently a time when he or 
Raymond would entrust him with the former’s 
plans. 

“ I have not had so much as a sight of Giani- 
belli for wellnigh a month,” said the burgher. 

“ I can well believe it,” returned young Ray- 


115 


Ai^twcrp Again. 

mond, “for so busy is he that he scarce sleeps 
two hours of a night.” 

“And yet time is the one thing in Antwerp 
of which men have a full supply and to spare.” 

“ The Italian has none too much, and has not 
failed to borrow plenty of mine and me with it. 
What think you, Van Schendel? He sets him- 
self to prepare twice seven thousand pounds of 
gunpowder of a sort far better, he thinks, than 
any ever known, and to have it done by a 
month hence.” 

“No wonder ’tis said he has been in league 
with Satan,” commented the Dutchman. 

“ That is but a small half of what he works, 
and verily if Satan be vastly more cunning and 
industrious, he must truly be a hard master.” 

Glancing about, Raymond arose and shut 
every door before he came back to make clear to 
Van Schendel what was Gianibelli’s plan. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE HOPE AND THE FORTUNE. 

TT was hard for Burgher Van Schendel to 
^ realize that Hubert was nearing manhood. 
He never coddled him ; all his life he had aimed 
to fit him to “endure hardness as a good 
soldier,” both of the cross and of his country, 
if more perilous times should overtake them. 
Still, so lately had Hubert been a curly-headed 
boy at play that sometimes the father sorely 
tried the young man by sharp enforcement of 
his paternal authority. At such times, however, 
Vrouw Van Schendel came gently between 
them, and there was no clashing of wills. A 
day dawned when the father said to the son for 
the last time, “Thou shalt.” The events that 
followed opened his eyes to the fact that Hubert 
was no stripling. 

It was a mild, pleasant evening early in 
April, and everybody in Antwerp seemed to be 
in the streets or squares. None were quietly 
116 


The Hope and the Fortune. ■ 117 

cliatting on doorsteps or languidly enjoying the 
somewhat enervating warmth. All were alert, 
excited, talking in eager tones, this man ques- 
tioning, that one explaining some matter in 
which the whole cit}^ seemed interested. There 
was a sudden lull in the tumult near the cathe- 
dral as four men pushed their way through the 
crowd. 

“ ’Tis he ! ’tis the wizard and his helpers,” 
whispered one. 

“ Ay, ay ! Men say he knows every black art 
that the devil himself has been able to teach 
him,” echoed a second, adding, “ All the better, 
say I, if so be he use his arts against the 
Spaniards.” 

“’Tis proof plain to me that Gianibelli has 
naught to do with the devil or he would love 
thq devil’s own brood, instead (as all the world 
knows) of hating the Spaniards,” commented a 
third. 

But, heedless alike of comments and scrutiny 
curious, timid or friendly, the Italian rapidly 
•threaded his way toward the river, followed 
by Bory, Timmerman, and Raymond. Their 
course lay past Van Sclien del’s house, and Ray- 
mond stopped there, having an errand with the 


118 


Jacobis Heiress. 


burgher. Van Schendel was eagerly awaiting 
him, and so, it appeared, was Hubert. 

Great was the boy’s dismay and chagrin when 
his father exclaimed, “ No, no, Hubert ; thou 
canst not go from thy mother. There is no 
need of thee anywhere else, and she might be 
in some sore strait if left alone.” 

^‘But, father,” groaned Hubert, “what could 
happen to her? At the worst the Spaniards 
could not take the city to-night. ’Tis — ’tis terri- 
ble to stay with the women and children in a 
time like this.” 

“ Wouldst thou leave thy mother unprotected 
in possible danger to satisfy thy curiosity?” 
asked his father sternly, adding, “ My duty as a 
magistrate takes me from her, else would I 
stay.” 

Pitying the young fellow’s natural disappoint- 
ment, Eaymond said, “ Only the soldiers, Hu- 
bert, will be in a position to see anything, and 
not all of those. You could be but one of a 
crowd in the street. I will tell you a fine plan : 
Old Casper, the cathedral sacristan, considers 
your mother a woman above all praise by rea- 
son of her kindness to his lame Nick. If you 
beg him in her name, he will admit the mother. 


The Hope and the Fortune. 119 

Sophie and yourself to the cathedral tower. 
There can you see all.” 

“ Think not I would have refused to stay had 
I thought it needful for her,” said Hubert, less 
excitedly, “but — ” 

“ But you would fain know all possible. 
Well, the tower is a grand place; hasten, lest 
many fill it first.” 

“Is it quite safe?” asked Van Schendel. 
“Might not the tower be shaken down?” 

The sudden appearance of a company of sol- 
diers around the corner prevented reply. The 
burgher and Raymond hastened to go their way, 
leaving Hubert rather crestfallen. He stood a 
few seconds pondering, then, hearing his moth- 
er’s voice, he told her what Raymond advised. 
They called little Sophie and hastened forth 
into the streets, making their way to the cathe- 
dral. Old Casper had just before their arrival 
turned away a group of applicants by telling 
them that every nook and corner of the roof and 
tower was full of people and that no more could 
find a perch. Seeing Vrouw Van Schendel, he 
opened the door for her at once, and, closing it 
behind Hubert and Sophie, made it fast. 

It was quite dark at the bottom of the tower, 


120 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


for night had already fallen. Casper brought a 
light, and, showing them the way, invited them 
to climb. The ascent was fatiguing. Both the 
lady and the child were weak from lack of proper 
food, so they were many times obliged to rest 
before the six hundred and more steps were 
mounted. 

When at last they emerged into the upper 
light and air, the change was so great it seemed 
as if it must be an hour earlier than when they 
entered the damp, dark passage below. 

Hubert, going to the parapet, exclaimed, 
“ Mother, come look down into the city. Hast 
ever seen an anthill broken open?” 

“’Tis just the same,” cried Sophie, peering 
down at the countless black bodies moving rest- 
lessly through every court, street and square. 
A moment after their eyes were turned beyond 
the roofs and towers of Antwerp, while faintly 
borne on the evening wind came the blare of 
trumpets and the beating of drums. From the 
cathedral top they could plainly see the shimmer 
of the wide water, the palisades, the forts and 
the ponderous bridge — that terrible, mysterious 
object they had scoffed at - while it had grown 
under their very eyes. The fast-failing twilight 


The iroj)e mid the Fortune. 121 

made smaller things indistinct, but it was still 
light enough to show on both sides of the river 
a vast array of soldiers all along the dykes, all 
across the bridge, mustering from every quarter, 
banners waving, spears and cuirasses gleaming. 

There were two or three old men on the tower 
who knew Hubert to be the son of a magistrate 
and an acquaintance of Gianibelli’s. They 
crowded about him now, asking questions. 

“ Dost know from thy father,” asked one, 
“the plan of operations this night? We hear 
such wild rumors. Surely at this late hour 
thou canst betray no secrets best kept if we are 
told more than we now know.” 

“ Of a truth not, Herr Geldorp : I can freely 
tell thee. So soon as it shall be dark Admiral 
Jacob Jacobzoon, who is near the Boor’s Sconce 
(the fort by the city-walls), shall start every 
half hour eight ‘hell-burners’ until the fleet of 
thirty-two are gone with the ebb tide toward the 
bridge. The boats are covered with tar, turpen- 
tine, rosin and every combustible thing one can 
think of, and their object is to clear the way and 
busy the Spaniards until the great ships of 
Gianibelli come on to do the grand things he 
predicts.” 


122 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


“ Ay, ay, the Fortune and the Hope,” said old 
Geldorp. “ We stake our all on them, but as for 
me, I wish Koppen Loppen had no hand in the 
matter.” 

But this is the time for ' runaway Jacob ’ to 
get rid of his nickname and clear of the charge 
of cowardice,” replied Hubert, referring to a 
recent occasion when the admiral had not be- 
haved with bravery and had earned the title 
Hubert gave him. 

“ He deserves no second trial in times like 
these,” muttered the old man. The burgo- 
master said that but for Jacobzoon’s folly the 
Spaniards would have fallen into our hands 
that day.” 

“We quote St. Aldegonde now,” said a second 
old man, “ but had we listened to our burgomas- 
ter months ago we would have been wiser. All 
winter long did he urge the Hollanders and 
Zeelanders to use the stormy moonless nights to 
destroy Parma’s bridge while it was yet unfin- 
ished, but no well-planned attempt was ever 
made.” 

It was getting dark fast. They could see 
nothing below them but moving lights, twink- 
ling everywhere like fireflies. 


123 


The Hope and the Fortune. 

“ How comes it,” asked Geldorp, “ that all the 
Spanisii forces are gathered as if they knew 
exactly what to expect?” 

“ Gianibelli said that the prince had learned 
something was under way, and no doubt he 
anticipates now an invasion by a fleet from 
Antwerp and a squadron of Zeelanders from 
below. The first ‘hell-burners’ are not to be 
lighted when they start No doubt they have 
already started, for that was to be the trick that 
would call out the Spanish soldiers to the 
bridge, and before it grew dark thou knowest we 
saw the bridge black with them — no doubt with 
the flower of them, the prince and the generals.” 

With talk like this the moments passed, and 
little Sophie, shivering as she wrapped herself 
in Vrouw Van Schendel’s skirts, wondered in 
her childish way what it all meant. If the 
Spaniards came from a far-away rich land, how 
foolish they were ! People said they were almost 
as poor and had as little to eat now as the Ant- 
werp folks ; then why try so hard to get into a 
city where they would find so very little in the 
cupboards? This bridge — would Spaniards 
come over it if it were not torn down, or were 
they strange, horrible demons, half men, half 


124 


Jacobs Heiress. 


fiends/ who could not cross water in boats, and 
therefore had fashioned the huge passage-way ? 

“What is the next thing to be done, my 
young friend?” again asked old Gel dorp, keep- 
ing close to Hubert — “ I mean after the fire- 
ships — dost thou know that ?” 

“Right well, for I have heard nothing else 
this last week. So soon as the fireships have 
done their work. Admiral Jacobzoon sends an 
eight-oared barge to see if there be any breach 
made in the bridge. If there is a passage 
opened to the city, he is to fire a rocket. At 
that very moment an armament and fleet 
stationed at Lillo will force its way to Antwerp, 
and they have food enough to comfort us and 
keep us content for days to come.” 

“ God grant our eyes shall see that rocket ere 
the dawn !” exclaimed the old man, and a sub- 
dued murmur of prayer echoed from all who 
listened. There was little said after that. All 
were eagerly watching for they scarcely knew 
what. 

When Van Schendel and Raymond hastened 
on their way, each was bound for a different 
point — the burgher to a place where with his 
fellow-councilors he would await events, and 


125 


The Hope and the Fortune. 

Raymond to the “ Boor’s Sconce,” where on the 
edge of the river, with Gianibelli and St. Alde- 
gonde the burgomaster, he was to be allowed 
the opportunity of seeing the success or failure 
of the strange war-vessels. But great as was 
the young man’s faith in the genius of the 
Italian, his surest confidence was in his God. 
His lips moved in prayer as he hastened toward 
the fort, having parted with Van Schendel by 
the town-hall. 

It was quite dark when he succeeded in get- 
ting to Gianibelli’s side. Asking no questions, 
after one glance into his pale face and gleam- 
ing eyes he awaited what a few seconds later 
happened. 

The first fleet of vessels had started down the 
river, watched by thousands of Spaniards eager 
to know its purpose — watched by as many 
Dutchmen as eager and almost as ignorant, not 
of the purpose of the fleet, but how that was to 
be accomplished. The vessels drifted here and 
drifted there, for no human hand guided them. 
The soldiers began to jeer when of a sudden the 
whole scene became a spectacle of unearthly 
splendor. Each ship was turned to flame ! The 
Scheldt seemed on fire, its banks being so illu- 


126 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


mined that the armed hosts appeared as in a 
mighty theatre, banners waving, weapons gleam- 
ing, men’s faces strained with fear and wonder. 
The shouts of the soldiers, the tumult of the 
populace, the blast of trumpets, all were stilled. 

But even as the Spaniards watched they took 
heart. If the intent was to burn the bridge, the 
means were not adequate. Burning vessels 
gliding about like luminous phantoms were 
strikingly picturesque, but only a mighty con- 
flagration could destroy the magnificent monu- 
ment of Alexander of Parma — this bridge on 
which now crowded the bravest of the Spanish 
arm3^ 

One by one the burning boats drifted apart 
and were slowly consumed, or, borne aside 
by the current, became entangled in a raft. 
Some grounded on the banks and others sank. 
Shouts of laughter came from the Spaniards on 
the palisades, the parapets and the unharmed 
bridge. Officers who had been secretly op- 
pressed by fear of the unknown fell to jesting 
about the Antwerp fireworks gotten up for their 
entertainment. 

To Admiral Jacobzoon, as has been said, was 
left the duty of dispatching the fleet, and great 


127 


The Hope and the Fortune. 

was Gianibelli’s chagrin when, instead of start- 
ing the vessels at regular intervals, Jacoh- 
zoon sent them all out, one after the other, 
helter-skelter. But, smothering his wrath, the 
Italian muttered, “ A bad beginning may not be 
a bad ending. All the more depends on the 
two great vessels. Would Koppen Loppen were 
in the bottom of the sea ere aught of importance 
had been left to him !” 

Scarcely had Gianibelli regained composure 
when Raymond exclaimed, “ He has started the 
Fortune— ay, and the Hope as well.’’ 

The Italian sprang to a point far out on the 
fort, the Frenchman followed, and the one could 
almost hear the heart-beats of the other. Each 
was wild with enthusiasm, the one because an 
experiment on the grandest scale might be 
about to prove his genius and satisfy his hatred 
— the other because the liberties of a great city, 
perhaps the lives of its people, might that night 
be saved. 

Darkness had taken the place of the spectac- 
ular glare. Only here and there a little space 
was lighted by the ruddy glow from a stranded 
ship. Not much heed was paid to the last 
stragglers until their larger size attracted atten- 


128 


Jacobis Heiress. 


tion. Small fires kindled on their decks bare- 
ly sufficed to make visible their hulls. They 
carried pilots who as they neared the bridge 
escaped under cover of the darkness. Lumber- 
ing old craft they seemed, but stout hearts were 
needed to guide them even that distance, for 
each vessel was a volcano in whose crater were 
fourteen thousand pounds of gunpowder covered 
with stones, cannon-balls, marble slabs, chains, 
iron hooks, plough-coulters, and numberless 
strange projectiles. Both vessels looked as if 
their purpose was (like their forerunners’) to fire 
the bridge by contact with it or its adjuncts. 
On the Fortune a slow-match was expected to 
explode the mine, while the Hope was to be 
regulated by a wonderful clock-work, which, 
striking fire from a flint, would inflame the 
mighty store of gunpowder beneath. 

From the cathedral tower the assembled 
people had followed the course of events, and 
had been able to satisfy themselves that nothing 
of great moment had been done. Suddenly Hu- 
bert recalled his father’s question, “ Is it quite 
safe ? Might not the tower be shaken down ?” 

Raymond had been swept on before he could 
reply, but a startled look on his face betrayed 


129 


The Hope and the Fortune. 

that Van SchendeFs question had suggested a 
possibility to be feared. 

It cost the boy a great struggle, but he frankly 
told his mother what was in his mind, and bade 
Casper warn the* rest. None of the men wished 
to go below, but Vrouw Van Schendel and 
Sophie were very weary. Hubert did not utter 
a protest when she leaned on him, saying, ‘‘ To- 
night the women of Antwerp can best help on 
their knees: I would gladly go home with thy 
assistance.” 

Sophie pattered after them down into the 
gloom. Hubert, who bore the feeble light, stop- 
ping now and then to let them rest, felt just a 
trifle uneasy at being shut in by the stone walls 
on every side, but nothing happened until the 
three were once more in the home, which 
seemed solemnly still in contrast with the 
streets thronged with anxious townsfolk. 

During this time Herr Van Schendel had met 
his colleagues, and after a brief consultation 
with certain of them he left them and hastened 
to the fort, where he found Raymond, but not 
Gianibelli. In the excitement of the moment, 
when the two hell-burners started, the Italian 
had rushed away from the young man’s side. 

9 


130 


Jacol/s Heiress. 


“ Are they really under way ?” exclaimed the 
burgher when he stood by Raymond in the 
place lately occupied by the “ wizard.’^ 

“ Can you not see them far yonder swaying 
with the current, the Fortune ahead?” cried 
Raymond ; and then a breathless silence fell on 
every man about them as all tried to watch the 
foremost vessel slowly making its way. 

“It goes not to the bridge,” whispered one. 

“ See ! see ! how it staggers toward the dyke ! 
how it lurches! It will ground near Kalloo,” 
was the cry just after. 

“ Oh, can it be that the match will not do its 
work?” groaned Van Schendel. 

“ Or the whole plan of building be a fail- 
ure?” gasped the Huguenot. They waited but 
a moment more, and then came a far-off faint 
explosion — a slight fire, and the Fortune had 
failed. 

Words cannot tell the bitter disappointment 
that filled Van Schendel’s heart as he cried out 
fiercely, “I thought Gianibelli knew what he 
planned! Hear, hear the Spaniards shout at 
the show we give them ! Oh what child’s sport 
is this?” 

“There is one more chance,” groaned Ray- 


131 


The Hojye and the Fortune. 

mond. “ All is not ended till the Hope fail to do 
its work but he spoke like one sick with dismay. 

Clumsily, aimlessly drifted along the Italian’s 
last vessel. The Spaniards gave no heed to it. A 
band of them had boarded the harmless Fortune 
and were exploring its secrets. But the myste- 
rious clock-work in the Hope was acting far bet- 
ter than the slow-match had done. While one 
army was utterly disheartened, the other was 
fearless and joyous. Who cared for the wizard 
hidden in the darkness waiting, waiting? 

The Hope neared its destination, tore its way 
along a raft and struck heavily against the 
bridge on the Kalloo side. There came a shout 
of laughter from the Spaniards and a rush of 
soldiers to board this last absurd old scow. 
They never reported what they found. There 
was an explosion like the rending of the heavens 
and earth. The boat, the soldiers, a great' part 
of the bridge, and the troops upon it, vanished. 
The waters of the river rushed over the dykes 
into the forts — a thousand human beings were 
torn into atoms. All the air was filled with 
cannon-balls and slabs of granite. There was a 
lurid light one moment, and Egyptian darkness 
the next. 


132 


JacoVs Heiress. 


Van Sclieiidel and Raymond were hurled to 
the ground and rendered almost senseless by the 
force with which they fell ; the waves of the 
Scheldt rushed over them, and perhaps helped 
to bring them to their senses. When they 
staggered to their feet each one had the same 
impression that everybody else must have been 
killed and Antwerp itself annihilated. Soon, 
however, there were outcries and noise of men, 
soldiers shouting for lights, and shaking them- 
selves like dogs crawling out of the water. 

With the first lights kindled Raymond saw 
Gianibelli pale as death, but with eyes gleaming 
like coals of fire: 

“ Think you that has not made a breach in 
Alexander’s bridge? Now will the admiral 
start the barge to make sure, and will send up 
the rocket for relief to come ; and my Hope has 
saved Antwerp,” he cried with a ring in his 
voice that thrilled every hearer. 

“ Nay, let us hope God has saved Antwerp, 
and that he judge us not sternly for this night’s 
deed, for hundreds of souls sent to judgment 
all unprepared,” returned Van Schendel sol- 
emnly; but little cared the Italian for aught ^ 
save his success. 


133 


The Hope and the Fortune. 

“Methinks King Philip himself might have 
heard even in the Escurial my salute to his 
majesty. And now let us go learn what is 
accomplished. Nay, that I know, for the bridge 
must be a ruin. Now let Antwerp get ready to 
receive the fleet, to feast and to rejoice.” So 
saying, back rushed Gianibelli to that point of 
the Boor’s Sconce, on the very edge of the river, 
where with St. Aldegonde the burgomaster he 
strained his eyes for the signal-rocket of the 
admiral. 

In the city there was wild uproar of joy suc- 
ceeding the brief awful confusion. Men every- 
where guessed the truth (known for a certainty 
three days later), that the famous bridge was 
cleft through and through. They laughed and 
wept and fell on one another’s necks as they 
realized that just below them, awaiting the 
signal to start, was the friendly fleet laden with 
provisions for their starving wives and children 
— the fleet with sails spread, oars in the row- 
locks. Their ears ached to catch the first 
thunder of the cannon turned against fhe foe. 

That signal-rocket was never sent up ! 

Once more Admiral Jacobzoon b}^ his imbe- 
cile conduct was to cover himself with shame, 


134 


Jacob's Heiress. 


and, what was infinitely, infinitely worse, bring 
ruin on Antwerp. All that night success, 
liberty, relief could have been had for the city. 
Gianibelli and the burgomaster (unable to tell 
what delayed the fleet or why the rocket was 
not fired) seemed frantic with rage and 
disappointment. Lying reports were started 
that the bridge was uninjured, and while the 
people of Antwerp believed these stories, the 
genius of the Spanish prince was wonderfully 
shown by his energy in action. Before daylight 
his soldiers had so patched up' the ruin that it 
seemed far less serious than it really was, while 
his men began and carried on like magic the 
work of genuine restoration. When all the 
truth was known in Antwerp, the bitter disap- 
pointment seemed too great to be endured. 

A few days later Jacob the dwarf, coming 
home, reported that a friend of his had gone 
under the bridge, had even been in Kalloo, and 
to him Jacob’s father had told many details — 
how terrible had been the loss of life among the 
Spaniards, what great generals they had lost, 
and how easily Antwerp might have freed her- 
self that night from foreign invasion. His 
report was made to Hubert, who would have 


135 


The Hope and the Fortune. 

bidden him refrain from harrowing his father 
with the recital; but the burgher overheard, 
and called Jacob to him where he sat brooding 
by his hearthstone. 

“ What said they in Kalloo,” asked Van 
Schendel, of the mind of the Spaniards ? and 
have they plenty of food?” 

“ They have plenty of nothing but of rags, of 
discontent and of hunger, according to the com- 
mon soldiers, and yet my father says Alexander 
of Parma will never leave Antwerp until it sur- 
renders or falls. He is the match for one like 
our dead prince.” 

And our prince is dead indeed,” groaned Van 
Schendel, murmuring to himself. ‘‘St. Alde- 
gonde is no coward, but he holds not the heart 
of the people in his hand as did Father William.” 

“ Of what will be the next talk ?” asked the 
mother, who sat with idle hands, for work now 
seemed so purposeless. 

“Bread-riots will come next,” replied the 
burgher; “already hungry crowds dog the 
burgomaster’s steps, yelling, ‘ Bread ! bread or 
peace with Spain !’ ” 

“Yes, and all the Catholics in Antwerp now 
echo the cry,” said Hubert. 


136 


Jacobis Heiress. 


Heaving a mighty sigh, Jacob added, My 
stomach is a Catholic ; it has ever an amen to 
that prayer ; but my head is Protestant, so I’ll 
not go bawling after the burgomaster.” 

At the word “bread” little Sophie left her 
listless play with her wooden doll, and, coming 
eagerly to Van Schendel’s side, stood a moment 
looking into his face. The troubled man did 
not read her thought, but kindly smoothed her 
hair. She opened her lips to ask if — Well, 
Jacob fancied it would be a question about 
food, and unseen he beckoned the child to his 
side and pointed kitchenward. When Sophie 
followed him into that almost painfully silent 
and spotless retreat, he drew from a cupboard 
part of his dinner. It was not quite as much or 
as palatable as Sophie had received in those sad 
days of her beggar-life, but it looked most 
delicious now. 

“ Sophie,” remarked the dwarf with a benev- 
olent leer and great plainness of expression, 
“ the hunger in my belly is such that a mouth- 
ful like this makes it much worse: wouldn’t 
you rather have no victuals at all than too 
little?” 

“ No-o,” answered truthful Sophie. 


The Hope and the Fortune. IS'lJ 

“ Then you may have tliis bite, and welcome.” 

“ But don’t you want it, surely ?” 

“ I want to see you swallow it, and when you 
are too hungry to stand it run away from 
them,” and he pointed to the family, “ and only 
tell Jacob. He’ll get you a bit if a bit is to be 
had.” 

Oh, it is so good !” said the ravenous little 
creature, “ and you are good. I would not have 
any home, Jacob, only you found me that 
night.” 

“ What a supper we had when we got home 
here with you ! I smell it now and the dwarf 
wistfully regarded the frying-pan as if he saw 
the old-time sausages; but, alas! their frag- 
rance was only in his memory. All the 
vessels, big and little, in the room were clean 
and empty. Emptiest of all was Jacob’s 
stomach. 


CHAPTER VI. 


ANTWERP’S FALL. ’ 

“ Let not him that girdeth on his harness boast himself as he 
that putteth it off.” 

XT was a terrible and humiliating disappoint- 
ment for men like Van Schendel to realize 
that when everything that human ingenuity 
could devise to save Antwerp had succeeded, 
the triumph had been snatched from them by 
pure carelessness. The councilors, almost beside 
themselves with rage, met again, and at this late 
day agreed that one faint hope remained. 

The Kowenstyn Dyke, which they had re- v 
fused to pierce when that action was urged as 
wise and feasible — that dyke, if it were possible 
now to pierce it, might be Antwerp’s security. 

It must be attempted in the very face of Parma 
and against frightful odds, but if done the 
waters, now divided into two lakes, would flow 
together in one continuous sea; the Scheldt 
would probably return to its own channel and 

J38 


139 


Antwerp's Fall. 

leave the bridge high and dry, a useless toy, 
and intercourse between Antwerp, Holland and 
Zeeland would again be uninterrupted. The 
great bulwark was three miles long, and was 
strongly guarded by the Spaniards who had 
three forts on it and their whole besieging army 
in its neighborhood. A disastrous attack on it 
had already been made by the Zeelanders, but 
in the latter part of May another, more deliber- 
ately planned, was agreed upon by the men of 
Holland and of Antwerp. 

Late one Saturday night two hundred ships 
from Zeeland, under cover of the darkness, stole 
up toward the Kowenstyn. Next morning, 
before the pale dawn and while the waning 
moon was yet in the sky, came other boats from 
Antwerp, some with soldiers, citizens and 
laborers, some laden with wool-sacks, sand- 
bags, hurdles, planks. Hohenlo and Justinus de 
Nassau from Zeeland came with brave men to 
fight, and provisions for the suffering city. St 
Aldegonde was there with English and Scotch 
troops, with men like Van Schendel, and with 
row-boats of sappers and miners, in whose picks 
and shovels lay the fate of Antwerp. With the 
Zeelanders were two men of whom the world 


140 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


was to hear — the fair-haired Prince Maurice and 
John of Olden-Barne veldt. Among the humble 
laborers from Antwerp was as brave a boy as 
the prince, Hubert Van Schendel, and a stout- 
arrned dwarf, Jacob his servant. 

The sentinels upon the Kowenstyn did not at 
first see the fleet. As they looked away toward 
Lillo four fiery phantom ships came gliding 
toward the great dyke. Nothing else would 
have sent the shuddering Spaniards into their 
forts. The memory of that bursting volcano by 
the bridge made cowards of them for the 
moment. The vessels, covered with tar, pitch, 
rosin and gunpowder, served the purposes of 
huge torches, and in the glare of their lurid 
light there swarmed across the black water 
the great fleet of boats, big and little. The Zee- 
landers sprang first upon the d3^ke, but found 
themselves in fierce encounter with the Span- 
iards, who had issued from the two forts between 
which the patriots had landed. The comman- 
der of the latter was hurled into the water and 
drowned in his heavy armor. The Spaniards 
were prevailing, when the Antwerp fleet came to 
the rescue on the other side. The burgomaster, 
cheering, was soon in the thickest of the fight. 


141 


Antwerp’s Fall. 

and close behind him was Van Schendel. The 
whole combined force now effected their land- 
ing, and the fiercest contest of all that long 
war began. Three thousand men were almost 
, face to face upon a strip of earth scarce six 
paces wide, with miles of deep sea on either 
hand. 

Side by side, every man who could handle \ 
pick *or shovel better than pike or sword 
rushed at the iron-bound soil of the dyke and 
dug and delved. Hubert and Jacob worked 
like beavers. The boy never stopped when all 
about them the contest raged and men rolled 
dead into a grave which their own hands had 
just dug. Jacob ceased only once to watch his 
master and young Raymond fighting breast to 
breast with Spaniards. Each man was for him- 
self with pike and pistol, sword or dagger. 
“Soldiers, citizens and all,— those men were like 
mad bull-dogs,” wrote Parma to King Philip. 

In Antwerp women and children were on 
their knees while on the dyke fathers and hus- 
bands fought for freedom from Spain^s bond- 
age. The cannon from the fort mingled its 
thunder with the cannon from the fleet. Pa- 
triots and Spaniards, closely packed, discharged 


142 


Jacob) s Heiress. 


pistols in one another’s face, or, wounded, rolled 
off the slimy dyke into the sea ; — and the sappers 
and miners tore up the dyke. Everything 
depended on them, and for an hour or more 
they worked like Titans. Meanwhile the 
patriots gained on their foe. With great 
slaughter they drove them to the Palisade Fort 
on one side and to Fort GeorgS on the other. The 
centre of the great dyke Kowenstyn was at last 
theirs, and a ipighty shout went up when the 
key to Antwerp was thus in their hand. The 
barrier was cut through and through. The salt 
water rushed like a river into the breach. 

“ See ! oh see !” yelled Jacob, aroused as never 
before, at the sight of a Zeeland barge laden 
with good things to eat and sailing trium- 
phantly through toward Antwerp. 

“Thank God!” panted Van Schendel, think- 
ing of Antwerp’s liberties rather than of its lar- 
ders. “Thank God, and I pray I may never 
see such another bloody Sabbath as this has 
dawned !” 

“Nay, thank God for all the glory of it,” 
shouted the burgomaster, rushing forward to 
spring on the barge, that he might be among 
the first to carry the news of victory to Antwerp, 


143 


Antioerp^s Fall. 

to set all the bonfires ablaze, to start all the bells 
pealing. Hohenlo went also. 

“Well begun is not ended,” said Van Schen- 
del, resting from his fearful labors, for the 
Spanish batteries were silenced and the patriots 
now unmolested. “There is much yet to do. 
I fancy our Father William would have de- 
ferred the rejoicing until the forts were carried 
and the dyke destroyed.” 

“ Ay ; I go not back to Antwerp for a mouth- 
ful of bread until I make sure there is a loaf 
for the morrow,” said a neighbor by his side ; 
adding, “ St. Aldegonde is a brave man and a 
genius, but ever in haste.” 

There was bitter rage among the Spaniards. 

“ Oh for one half hour of Alexander of 
Parma in the field !” sighed one of the com- 
manding officers who was in council. But 
there was no lack of old heads and young he- 
roes among the Spanish forces. New troops soon 
reached the garrison and attacked the besiegers. 

The soldiers of the fort, cheered b}" the relief, 
made a vigorous sortie. Suddenly along the 
whole dyke ran the news that the prince of 
Parma had arrived. 

Then came the real issue of the day. Already 


144 


Jacobis Heiress. 


the joy-bells of Antwerp were pealing. The 
boatload of food was displayed, and every store- 
house door flew open to receive the supplies that 
would soon follow, and in the town-hall was hot 
haste made to spread a banquet for the glory- 
crowned heroes. Men cried for joy, and women 
hugged their children with rapturous promises 
of peace and plenty. 

The prince inspired his troops with wild 
enthusiasm. He took in with rapidity the 
whole situation, made brief arrangements, went 
from rank to rank, saying, “ The man who re- 
fuses to follow me cares not for honor nor holds 
dear God’s cause and the king’s.” 

No heroic leader played on the hearts of the 
patriots: proper leaders they just then lacked, 
but every man among them, before starting on 
that day’s work, had vowed to destroy the dyke 
and relieve Antwerp or die in the attempt. 
Soon five thousand men were shut within that 
mile-long space between the forts, and again 
began a hand-to-hand conflict. 

There was scarcely room for the dead to fall ; 
the slimy ground was blood red. Comrades 
climbed on the bodies of comrades as they 
fought. It was not a battle, but a series of 


145 


Antn)er'p\^ Fall. 

« 

countless duels. The horrible carnage went on 
an hour and a half. Then a strange delusion 
excited the Spaniards to new ardor. It was 
told that the ghost of a dead commander of 
the old Spanish Legion, Don Pedro Pacchi, 
was charging in front of his regiment. 

Unhappily, some of the vessels of the patriots 
began at that moment to drift away from the 
d^^ke, and others, being disabled, must retreat or 
fall into the Spaniards’ hands should they gain 
the day. 

“We have conquered !” shouted the ever-ready 
prince of Parma. “ The sea deserts the impious 
heretics.” 

A panic seized the patriots, and thfe day was lost! 

Such a day as it had been to young Hubert I 
When the barge went through the dyke he had 
felt the wild joy of a schoolboy, had shouted, 
leaped and sung — had been wild to get back to 
Antwerp that he might help old Casper ring 
the cathedral bells, sore as were his arms. 
Then came the order to go on with the work of 
destruction, and he had obeyed, working with 
the busiest, so blackened with smoke, so be- 
grimed with mud, that Jacob could not recog- 
nize him. 


10 


146 


Jacobis Heiress. 


'fhe fighting had been but just renewed when 
the rumor reached Hubert that the Spaniards 
were getting the better of the former victors, and 
that the real fight must now be not to destroy 
the dyke, but to get the forts. The shovel fell 
from his hands. In that instant he realized 
what defeat meant for Antwerp. He remem- 
bered the “ Spanish Fury,” that horrible, horrible 
nightmare of his childhood ! Now he was able 
to realize what the Spaniards might do again. 
His mother was in Antwerp, and little Sophie, 
grown dear to him. 

In that hour and place Hubert left his boy- 
hood. He clambered out of the mud and lost 
no time in joining the fighters. After that he 
had but one thought — to do his utmost. Years 
after he could live over that horrible hour or 
two which at the time had seemed to him a 
delirium. By chance he came near Raymond, 
black and bloodstained, and again by his father, 
bleeding from a wound in his head, hut, uncon- 
scious of everything perhaps in his terrible 
fight for what had been gained only to be lost, 
he joined the soldiers. 

Then came the panic, and all was changed 
into a mad rush along the bloodstained dyke. 


147 


Antwerp's Fall. 

the fleeing army seeking to gain the boats, 4he 
Spaniards fighting them even in the water. 
Two thousand were slain or drowned in this 
retreat. 

The Scotch and English troops from Antwerp 
were the last to yield their position, and only 
after great loss. 

Van Schendel, wounded again in the side, 
would never have reached a boat alive had not 
« Hubert, assisted by a townsman, dragged him 
off the dyke amf into almost the only boat they 
could have escaped in. As it was, the fugitives 
just behind them were shot and a boatload in 
advance was sent to the bottom of the river. 

Such a return to Antwerp ! — to Antwerp 
where Hohenlo, the victor of the morning, was 
feasting with fair women and drinking to the 
success of the patriots ! The silver goblet was 
in his hand, joy in his face, when strange cries 
arose in the streets. The doors opened, and the 
dead and dying were brought in, their ghastly 
wounds adding horror to the story of loss and 
defeat— the Spaniards held the dyke ! Once more 
Antwerp’s safety had been sacrificed to folly and 
criminal carelessness. 

' Vrouw Van Schendel had been greatly ex- 


148 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


cited all that long Sunday afternoon, now with 
joy at what the public rejoicing betokened, now 
Vith fear at the thought that the victory had 
been bought with bloodshed and perhaps her 
dear ones were among the dead. If all was well 
with them, why were they not at home ? Men told 
her the dyke was almost destroyed. She paced up 
and down the house; she stood long in the door- 
way searching the almost deserted streets for a 
sight of her husband or Hubert. She let Sophie 
follow her into the silent kitchen, and ‘when the 
child questioned her of the bells all the time 
ringing, she tried to divert both herself and the 
little one with pictures of the feasts yet to be 
cooked in all those empty polished pots and 
stew-pans. To-morrow — yes, possibly to-night — 
they might have supper enough to satisfy them. 
One shipload of provisions had arrived, the 
neighbors told her. By and by the bells were 
still. From the not distant square came shouts. 
A man rushed past her door, cursing and crying 
for vengeance on — She should have thought 
he said Hohenlo and St Aldegonde, but had not 
these men helped to save the city? When all 
was still she went in, and little Sophie brought 
her a great bunch of yellow violets from the 


Antwerp's Fall. 


149 


garden. The child stood by the anxious 
woman, looking very pale, and listlessly asked 
if it were not strange that the flowers that God 
made never needed to eat, while children got 
hungry. 

There was a sound of feet at the door. The 
violets flew from her skirts as the vrouw rushed 
to meet the incomer. She staggered back at 
the sight that met her, but never knew if she 
uttered a sound. A second after she was help- 
ing her almost powerless husband to stretch 
himself on the floor, while Hubert (yes, the 
blackened, bloodstained, mud-covered creature 
was Hubert) worked over the prostrate man, 
finding for the first time the extent of his 
wounds. In those terrible times women had 
learned to do all that could be done in the 
absence of the by no means easily-found sur- 
geons. Van Schendel, although terribly ex- 
hausted from loss of blood and exertion, pro- 
tested that his were only flesh wounds, which 
seemed probable, though one had a most ugly 
look. Hubert was scarcely able to speak, now 
that he had succeeded in getting his father home. 

Vrouw Van Schendel brought out a bottle of 
old wine treasured heretofore as far more preci- 


150 


Jacobs Heiress. 


ous than gold, and gave them each a portion, 
soaking in it little cakes of the grain that was 
all their sustenance. Kind even in her anxiety, 
she fed little Sophie too when the child began 
to pick up the tiniest crumbs from the floor. 
Were they not to have relief soon? Had not 
her brave husband and^ her noble boy fought 
well for Antwerp’s safety? She was soon un- 
deceived. With the first strength given him by 
food the burgher groaned and lamented over 
the cruel end of the day that had begun so joy- 
fully. The fall of Antwerp was only a matter 
of days, a mere question of how near starvation 
its citizens would come before surrendering to 
Alexander of Parma; and many were starving 
even now. 

Sleep at last overpowered the two who had 
endured so great fatigues, and Vrouw Van 
Schendel was left to hours of harrowing 
thought. Once or twice she stood at her open 
window and listened to the howls of the an- 
gry, the wails of the heartbroken people, who 
now fully comprehended what had occurred. 

About dark the dwarf crept in at the door, so 
spent that, like his master, he had hardly breath 
to tell the horrors he had seen. 


151 


Antwcrp^s Fall. 

Sophie knew of war only by hearsay, and 
now that all were once more at home, why were 
they so sad ? “ Will we not, then, have broth to- 
morrow ?” she queried anxiously, but, getting no 
answer, did not ask again. 

The next day Hubert, though stiff and lame, 
succeeded in getting a surgeon, who dressed the 
burgher’s wounds. He declared they were not 
dangerous if inflammation did not set in, and 
he made a grim attempt at a jest about avoiding 
too rich or stimulating food. The day for jests 
had gone by. 

The burgher, tossing on his couch, would 
groan, not with bodily pain, but in anguish of 
soul. Again for an hour he would be lost in 
despairing thought, and tears would flow down 
his cheeks, now pale and sunken. So day after 
day passed. The first day of June there was 
taken an account of grain, and it was declared 
to be half a pound for each person every day 
if the city held out two months and awaited 
heaven only knew what help. Perhaps Eng- 
land might come to the rescue. 

Van Schendel’s faith grew faint. In all the 
years past he had been one who felt that the 
Lord W9-S on the side of the Netherlands, and the 


152 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


devil himself the helper of Spain. Now, when 
he looked at his frail, white-faced wife and 
reflected that to hold out longer against the 
Spaniards meant starvation, while to surrender 
meant for women and children perhaps a fate 
a thousand times worse than death, he cried 
out, “ 0 God, thy fierce wrath goeth over us ; 
thy terrors have cut us off. Wilt thou show 
wonders to the dead? Shall the dead arise and 
praise thee ? Shall thy loving-kindness be 
declared in the grave? or thy faithfulness in 
destruction ?” 

In vain Van Schendel’s brother-councilors 
urged him to make haste to recover, so that he 
might get back to their endless debates and 
wranglings over what might be done, when 
there was naught they could do. 

In these days Louisa Van Schendel developed 
a faith that made her seem to Hubert like one 
inspired, and reminded the burgher of the tra- 
ditional saints in whom he no longer believed. 
She was able to rise above the present season of 
awful suspense — able to trust God if Antwerp 
fell and they all were doomed to perish. Over 
and over she repeated to him the words of 
Christ about tribulation and sorrow ; she bade 


153 


Anticerp’s Fall. 

him give no more thought to those that could 
kill the body, but not the soul ; especially she 
labored to show him that, though religious lib- 
erty should again be taken from Antwerp, the 
Lord was stronger than Philip of Spain. Right 
would triumph in the' end. He listened and 
pondered her words. She was constantly with 
him, for the household duties were light ; even 
little Sophie could serve the food, it was so 
scant, so pitiably scant. 

Van Schendel’s wounds healed slowly if at 
all ; but he suffered litlle, seemed to have no 
fever, and Vrouw Van Schendel began to urge 
him to make exertion to get out again. He 
would not rouse himself even when she told 
him of the bread-riots and that the people were 
beseeching St. Aldegonde to give up the city 
without further resistance. He only replied, “ I 
cannot advise. Let them do what seemeth least 
harmful.” 

One evening, toward the last of July, Giani- 
belli and Raymond came to see why the 
burgher did not mend faster. Raymond had 
himself been wounded, but was now almost 
recovered. They found Van Schendel propped 
up in his big chair, looking so sallow-white that 


154 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


the change from his former ruddiness was start- 
ling. He seemed, too, lacking in all his old- 
time vehemence of speech, and he listened in 
silence when Raymond told him that the burgo- 
master was considering with the prince articles 
of capitulation. 

Gianib^lli after a little dropped all talk of 
public affairs, and with quite the manner of an 
experienced physician began to put questions to 
Vrouw Van Schendel and to the burgher about 
his condition. The Mantuan had considerable 
surgical skill, having studied medicine and 
surgery as he had studied something of all 
sciences. He carefully examined Van Schendel, 
and then with a casual remark that his wounds 
would not heal until he had more vitality, he 
turned the talk again to public affairs. 

When the two men bade the burgher good- 
night and had left the room, they were detained 
at the door by the vrouw. 

“What think you of my husband?” she asked 
the older man, and, seeing he hesitated an 
instant, she exclaimed, “The truth! I w^ould 
have the whole truth. I like not some signs, 
some symptoms I have noticed.” 

“ As what, madam ?” 


Antiverp’s Fall. 


155 


Where is the other one in these days whp 
craves not food, as he doth not ? Once I might 
think he feigned, that the rest of us might have 
a larger portion ; he hath done so in days gone, 
but now friends send him daily little hoarded 
dainties. He really cares not to eat, he — But 
what think you. Signor Gianibelli?” 

“ I fear that he faileth from poisoning of the 
blood, else why is there no healing of the 
wounds, but rather they worsen? He craveth 
no food ; he is not nourished by that which he 
taketh. He was not in strength when hurt; 
since then he hath been as low in mind as in 
body: all work together.’^ 

Vrouw Van Schendel laid her hand on her 
heart and stood as if she heard not the last 
words of her guest. When Kaymond, who, 
having less knowledge than Gianibelli, could 
feel more hope, strove to speak cheeringly, she 
answered, “ It cometh not on me all unexpected. 
For a week have I feared to hear such words. I 
have seen this blood-poisoning before now.” 

“ Louisa beloved !” called the burgher. 

She went back and sat by his side, holding 
his hand, which was almost as delicate as her 


own. 


156 


JacoUs Heiress, 


„ “Louisa, Gianibelli hath given me great 
comfort.” 

“ Wherein, dear husband ?” 

“ He hath shown me clear proofs that if the 
city surrender — and it must — the prince of 
Parma will never deal with the people as Duke 
Alva dealt. Gianibelli hates a Spaniard, and 
would say naught without reason in praise 
of one. He declareth that the outrage, the 
horror of Naarden and Haarlem will not be 
repeated. I know not how he telleth, but he 
avows that all heretics will be allowed two years 
in which to close up their affairs and leave 
Antwerp, unless they conform to the Church of 
Rome.” 

“ Then let us not be wholly cast dowm. We 
can seek refuge in England.” 

“ A strange new" peace filleth my soul, Louisa. 
I had it, in part, before the Mantuan came, but 
the fear of what might happen to the bodies of 
my dear ones ever troubled me. Now that he 
has eased me of that I am quiet in my soul. 
Religious freedom seemeth dead in the Nether- 
lands, but God is not dead, my Louisa, and no 
prince can banish his love from the heart of 
his ow"n people. It hath of late been showui me 


157 


Ankoerp's Fall 

that I have not loved my Saviour as I have 
hated his enemies. I have forgotten that God 
hath more days than this evil day for Antwerp 
in his great book of time. I believed he needed 
me to fight, to suffer, to die for Antwerp. I 
know now he wanted only my poor broken 
heart.” 

Vrouw Van Schendel was softly weeping at 
the tender tones of the once-strong man by her 
side. He put his arm out and , held her close, 
saying, “ Louisa, I shall not need two years to 
end my doings in Antwerp. I shall enter a 
free city where God alone reigneth, and that 
soon. If matters haste not, I shall not even 
know when Antwerp falls at Alexander’s feet. 
I shall stand in the great city, the Holy Jerusa- 
lem, into which never entereth anything that 
defileth.” 

He expected a terrible outburst of grief, such 
as he had vainly tried to assuage when little 
Elizabeth died, but Louisa only clung to him, 
weeping softly. He did not know the comfort 
she had in believing that she would soon 
follow him. When he should be gone the 
mainspring of her life would be broken. Care 
and famine had already reduced her bodily 


158 Jacob’s Heiress. 

strength, so that slie would have no power of 
recuperation. 

They sat for a long time talking of the days 
of their courtship and early marriage. The 
moon came up and filled the room with a mys- 
tical beauty. They were lifted out of the pres- 
ent and seemed to have a revelation of the life 
and joy to come. Spiritual things became 
gloriously real to these two who were but light- 
ly clothed upon with their earthly garments of 
flesh, and whose souls were the temples of the 
Holy Spirit. 

A few days more and it was evident to all 
that the burgher’s* end was near. The day it 
was made known that Antwerp had yielded 
meekly to Philip of Spain he heard it talked 
of, but gave no heed. His voice, hearing and 
sight began to fail ; he only whispered a word 
or two of prayer or the name “ Louisa ” — some- 
times, “My son,” and again, if Sophie kissed 
his feeble hand, he would murmur, “Eliza- 
beth.” He died so quietly they did not know 
the moment of his death. 

Then Vrouw Van Schendel’s terrible grief 
came like the storm after the calm. She re- 
fused to leave the bedside, and was only 


159 


Ankverp^s Fall. 

quieted when Hubert consented, against his judg- 
ment, to let the body stay in the house until the 
days of public so-called rejoicing were ended. 

The prince made his triumphal entrance into 
Antwerp with gorgeous display, processions, 
torchlight exhibitions, music and merrymaking 
— a bitter season to many brave hearts, but, 
thanks be to Heaven ! not a time of bloodshed 
and horror. All through those hours of bell- 
ringing and cannon-firing the inmates of the 
once bright home of the Van Schendels moved 
softly, as if fearing to disturb the lifeless master 
and the stricken mistress. Raymond, who also 
had lost a noble father, tried to speak some 
comfort to Hubert, but no one could do more 
for Vrouw Van Schendel than urge her to taste 
a bit of bread or a sup of wine. 

On the evening of the third day she aroused 
and spoke lovingly to Hubert, stroked Sophie’s 
soft hair, and once said earnestly to Raymond, 
“ God be with thee, Louis ! If my husband was 
a friend to thee, be thou like a brother to his 
son and mine.” 

“ I will indeed, dear lady. Let me be to thee 
another son, and strive to do for thee in days to 


come. 


160 


JacoVs Heiress. 


With a smile that illumined her features with 
an almost unearthly light she echoed, “ days to 
come.” 

Raymond feared her mind might be giving 
way, and urged Hubert to get her to rest. She 
consented to go with little Sophie, and Hubert 
saw her within the chamber door before he 
kissed her good-night. 

They found her at sunrise the next morning 
close to her husband, her hands folded — quite 
dead. 


CHAPTER VIL 


A NEW HOME. 

was three in the afternoon, and all Madame 
Bercier’s domestic tasks were done. It is 
doubtful, however, if the bright-eyed little mis- 
tress of the new home thought that anything 
connected with her present dwelling was a task. 
This day, as she took her sewing and seated 
herself in the doorway, she seemed so comfort- 
able in mind and body that the sleek yellow cat 
came purring to curl at her feet in peaceful 
slumber. For the first time in years the pastor’s 
wife had no anxieties. 

Their journey in the early summer had been 
very long and iresome, but happily was void of 
perils. When they reached Canterbury they 
found that Huguenot friends had already 
chosen a house for them. It was a cottage on 
the old road along which the pilgrims used to 
travel from London to a Becket’s shrine — a neat, 
commodious house of oaken beams and plaster. 
Knowing that the good pastor could bring with 
11 161 


162 


JacoVs Heiress. 


him nothing but such articles as were easily 
transported, these same friends had vied with 
one another to provide him with stout oak 
chairs, tables, beds and chests. Madame Ber- 
cier’s satisfaction at the sight of them is inde- 
scribable. While the pastor was going from 
house to house discoursing of spiritual matters 
and the state of affairs in France, while Jeanne 
and Marie cared most for the sunshine, the wild 
flowers and the sweet summer days outside the 
cottage, madame flew from closet to parlor, from 
kitchen to porch. Never did the rest of that 
happy family well understand how madame 
herself managed to bring from France so 
many treasures as came to light. 

So it was that on this September afternoon 
the cottage was supplied with all that English 
ideas of comfort required, while it was made 
dainty with devices known only in France. 
Madame sewed with pleasant reflections on the 
goodly store of linen in her chests. She could 
not resist admiring glances at the dresser, 
where, by the side of honest English pottery, 
gleamed bright bits of silver from the chateau. 
She was not so practical in her tastes, however, 
that she could not delight in the big flower-pots 


A New Home. 


163 


Marie had put here and thereabout, and greatly 
was she charmed with what she saw outside her 
doors. The cottage was on a slight elevation 
overlooking the city, plainly showing the three 
great towers and vast front of the magnificent 
cathedral. All about were fields carpeted witli 
daisies, winding lanes between hedgerows, nat- 
ural groves of grand old trees, and everywhere 
views of as fair a country as ever they had seen 
in France. 

Jeanne and Marie were too young to find oc- 
casion for overmuch joy in household goods; 
they cared more for the pretty garden behind 
the cottage. This garden was full of herbs, of 
fruit trees, berries and a medley of all varieties 
of flowers sweet in perfume and brilliant in 
color. 

The pastor’s family had now been several 
weeks established in their new home. His 
heart was cheered as he went among his old 
friends or learned to know new ones. He found 
what for that day was considered entire liberty 
in matters of religion. No Huguenot in Canter- 
bury lived in terror of his life. Then, too, all 
were sure of a comfortable maintenance if will- 
ing to work for it. Indeed, none of them suf- 


164 


Jacobs Heiress. 


fered from the home-sickness usual to dwellers 
in a strange land. Each heard his native 
tongue spoken, and could find his own people 
living in the French manner, though sur- 
rounded by English folk. Jeanne and Marie 
were likely to have more young companions 
than ever they had had at home. Change of scene 
and occupation had been good for both girls. 
Jeanne was the only one who had many lonely 
hours, for not one word had she heard from her 
brother. Letters had all gone astray. The day 
they left France one letter (very brief and so 
written that officials might read and find no 
treason therein) had reached Jeanne, telling her 
that her brother Louis was well and with kind 
friends. Since then not a word had been 
received. 

Madame Bercier was in deep thought plan- 
ning a vegetable garden that she would surely 
have planted as early in the spring as might be. 
Suddenly some one spoke her name, and a man 
appeared close by her side. She sprang up in 
surprise that was half alarm, then, gazing into 
the new comer’s face, exclaimed, “ Is it? God be 
praised, it is Louis Raymond ! But how thou 
hast changed ! Thou wast scarce older than my 


A New Home. 


165 


Bertrand when we saw thee set forth ; w^hen 
and whence hast thou come? Oh, what joy for 
Jeanne !” 

“Tell me of her, dear madame. My heart 
would be broken but for knowing she lives. 
Thou canst well picture what a home-coming I 
had last month. I was wild with delight at the 
thought of surprising the mother and dear ones. 
I rode into the village at the twilight, and mar- 
veled much to see no light, no stir, in or about 
the chateau. When I found it empty, I wonder 
I fell not senseless on the doorstone; for, re- 
membering my father, I had but one sick 
horror of soul, believing all were dead — slain.” 

“No, no, poor Louis! God has smitten thee, 
but it was with a loving hand and not by man’s 
cruelty. Thy dear mother and thy good aunt 
died peacefully in their beds.” 

“ So was it told me by the neighbors, and I 
could almost be reconciled to my loss in the first 
relief of knowing they had not all been butch- 
ered; but the chateau, my heritage, the home 
of the Raymonds for two hundred years, 
Madame Bercier?” 

“Will belong to the Raymonds no more; but, 
Louis, my husband would say that we are 


166 


JacoUs Heiress. 


strangers and pilgrims in a glorious company, 
some of whom are gone on to the better country, 
to the city God hath prepared. What matter 
if we are cast out of France, if God is not 
ashamed to be called our God — above all, if he 
gives us safe refuge even this side of heaven ?” 

“Truly, the good pastor was ever a saint. 
Still, the chateau was mine, and while we are on 
earth we — or I do — cling to what we claim as 
our right.” 

“ Thou sayest what I feel. I am not so lifted 
above the world as the pastor. I know too that 
’tis easy for me to speak cheeringly, seeing I 
have here in England a better portion than ever 
I had at home. Nevertheless, by my own 
worldliness can I better measure thy grief at 
losing thy lands and the goodly dwelling,” said 
the honest-hearted madame. 

“ Jeanne, my sister, all that is left me save 
little Marie the cousin — where is Jeanne?” 

“Well, and longing for thee. The day being 
so beautiful, they went for a ramble. The way 
I cannot tell, but soon we shall see them again. 
Hast thou eaten? Shall I not get thee food?” 

“ Not so, madame. . I dined well in the town 
when once I had learned all was w^ell with thee 


A New Home. 


167 


and with Jeanne. How kind, dear friend, hast 
thou been to my poor unprotected girls ! But for 
the pastor and thee what had they done?” 

“Nay, Louis, we have but made our home 
bright with young life. I ever wanted daugh- 
ters, and now am I rich.” 

For a little longer they talked, and then 
madame, seeing the wistful looks the young 
man cast up and down the highway, exclaimed, 
“ I have reason to think that Jeanne and Marie 
took yonder path across the fields to the road 
leading to an old, old church on a hill. If thou 
likest, go seek them.” 

Louis at once availed himself of the permis- 
sion to leave the madame, glad as he had been 
to see her familiar face. He hastened across the 
fields, feeling lighter-hearted than he had for 
weeks. Deeply as he grieved for his mother, it 
w^as sweet to know that she was for ever out of 
the reach of the terror and lawlessness of the 
times. If he had no lands to call his own, the 
world was wide. He was young and Jeanne 
was safe. Dear Jeanne! She was to be all in 
all now to him. After months of excitement, 
danger, and sadness following hope, it was 
soothing to have leisure to note how blue was 


168 


Jacob's Heiress. 


the sky, how soft the verdure of hillside and 
valley, how peaceful this fair English land. He 
had so lately seen human beings gaunt with 
famine, desperate with the fortunes of war, it 
was delightful to meet fat and rosy children 
playing by the roadside cottages, to pass men 
with hopeful faces, comely dames with con- 
tented mien, and last, but not least, sleek, well- 
fed cattle. He went lightly along the beaten 
path, followed by many curious glances from 
the rustics whom he passed. They knew that 
this tall, olive-skinned and handsome stranger 
was no English yeoman. Soon he saw above 
him a little old square church, half hidden in 
foliage and surrounded by a churchyard, and, if 
his eyes did not deceive him, he saw a maiden 
who might be Jeanne. Little he cared, if he 
knew, that this was the oldest church in the 
land, the one built for St. Augustine, who 
brought Christianity to England. He hurried 
on faster and faster. He came up the little path 
toward the front of the church and saw Jeanne 
plainly. She was leaning on an old stone look- 
ing away to the not far distant but unseen 
ocean, thinking perhaps of him. The sun fell 
on her beautiful uncovered hair and her glow- 


A New Home. 


169 


ing southern face. In contrast with the Dutch 
type of womanhood she seemed to Louis, as she 
really was, most rarely lovely. He feared to 
come upon her too abruptly. Hiding behind a 
great bush, he began singing their mother’s 
favorite even-song. At the first sweet minor 
strain Jeanne sprung from the stone, reached 
out both hands, and cried, “0/?, ma mhe, ma 
mere / — Louis, mon frere 

In a moment more he had her in his arms, 
sobbing on his breast. When the first joy of 
meeting had calmed into more quiet delight the 
brother and sister seated themselves on a mound 
in the sunshine to talk of all that had gone on 
in the old home. They forgot Marie, who had 
strolled away with Bertrand. They went over, 
together, every day before the mother’s death, 
every hour of her illness, and all that had 
occurred since that time. Louis told nothing 
of his own experiences, saying only that these 
could be told at any time. Now all his thoughts 
w^ere of France. They talked at first with many 
sobs, wdth tear-stained cheeks, but, growing calm- 
er, Jeanne narrated the later events of their 
journey, and Louis was glad to learn how pleas- 
ant they had found England, how fondly the 


170 


Jacob's Heiress. 


orphan girls had been cherished by the old 
pastor and his wife. 

“ Thou art changed, little one,’’ said Louis, 
holding fast Jeanne’s hand. It was so good to 
have some one he might love and caress ! “ I 
find thee wondrously like that picture of the 
grand dame our great-aunt who was called a 
court beauty, but, thank God, thou art far 
from any court, my little Huguenot sister.” 

“Little I no longer am,” laughed Jeanne, 
blushing not from vanity as much as from maid- 
enly pleasure that her brother found her sweet in 
his eyes. “ Thou shouldst see dear little Marie,” 
she added. “ Her cheeks are as rosy as cherries, 
her eyes as blue as any English maid’s, and she 
groweth so fast that Madame Bercier saith that 
one gown is scarce made for her before she hath 
outgrown it quite.” 

“ Roses Marie had ever in her cheeks, and 
brambles many and sharp in her temper, but a 
good kind heart.” 

“ That she ha^. The sweetness is for all save 
Bertrand ; he getteth the brambles. He is meek 
and ever courteous, so Marie teaseth him with- 
out mercy,” said Jeanne, looking down the hill, 
wondering where her late companions were. 


A New Home. 


171 


“Bertrand? I forget him. Had he a fair 
girlish face, somewhat too pretty for a boy?” 

“ He had, and still hath, a fair face, but 
lacketh not spirit. He careth most for books, 
for old pictures, and studying of old buildings 
like the cathedral 3mnder. I think he must 
turn out a far greater scholar than the pastor 
himself. He careth no more for young men’s 
sports than doth PasTor Bercier himself, yet he 
is oft very merry.” 

Jeanne had but spoken when from around 
the church came a tall lad with a pale face, 
followed by Marie, who stared in astonishment 
at Louis sitting by Jeanne’s side. She rushed 
at him when once he said, “Marie, dost thou 
not know me?” and her welcome was of 
the heartiest. Bertrand naturally remembered 
young Raymond well. The little Bercier had 
greatly admired him in the days when Louis 
had been the young master at the chateau. He 
had followed him with a boy’s longing when 
the young man rode forth from the quiet ham- 
let like a knight in quest of adventures. 

“Where has the time gone?” cried Jeanne. 
“I thought it early, and here ’tis sunset!” 

Surely; let us hasten,” said Louis. “’Tis to 


172 


Jacobs Heiress. 


treat Mere Bercier discourteously to leave her 
so long, and I have seen friends of hers who 
sent messages.” 

“ Oh, thou hast indeed seen our village since 
we have !” exclaimed Bertrand, asking many 
questions. In this occupation he was greatly 
helped by Marie, who would know of every- 
thing, even the fate of the kittens left behind. 
Jeanne, happy enough to be silent for a time, 
went down the pathway hand in hand with 
Louis. 

It was dark when they reached home, and 
the air very keen, but Mere Bercier had a warm 
welcome. A brisk fire leaped and crackled in 
the deep fireplace. Bright red curtains were 
drawn before the diamond window-panes, and 
she had prepared a little feast in honor of their 
guest. Pastor Bercier embraced the young man 
as if he were a son, and tears filled young 
Raymond’s eyes when he remembered that the 
gentle old man had stood by his dying mother, 
had laid her in her peaceful grave. Madame 
was a famous cook, and full justice was done? to 
her good things before the little group gathered 
about the hearth to hear Louis tell his story. It 
was almost midnight when the hostess thouglit 


A Neiu Home. 


m 


to send them to bed. They had learned for the 
first time of all that was doing in the Nether- 
lands. The pastor was most deeply interested 
in the religious aspect of public affairs, but the 
madame and the girls could not hear enough 
of the once bright home of the Van Schendels, 
now desolate. Jeanne, who had lost home and 
mother, felt as if Hubert were a brother ; Marie ' 
wept in sympathy for little Sophie; and the 
refugee pastor knew what the burgher had suf- 
fered in knowing that liberty of conscience was 
lost to his native land. The story of the fire- 
ships, of the siege, the piercing of the dyke, the 
premature rejoicing — how all thrilled them! 
They wept together at the recital of poor Vrouw 
Van Schendehs patience, her slow starvation, 
and death of a broken heart. 

“What has become of Hubert and little 
Sophie and the good servant Jacob eagerly 
asked Marie. 

“Soon after his parents were buried in one 
grave,” replied Raymond, “ Hubert took little So- 
phie to a relative of his in Leyden. He loves 
the child for her own sake, and more even 
because his father and mother petted her to the 
last. She wept sore and clung first to him and 


174 


JacoVs Heiress. 


then to me, begging us to keep her. It was 
plainly impossible. Hubert assured her a 
thousand times that she was his dear little 
sister and he would never desert her. She is 
with a fine old gentlewoman, who will be kind 
and teach her what she ought to know. Hu- 
bert, fortunately, has means to provide for her. 
Van Schendel, knowing that he might at any 
time have to flee from Antwerp, invested funds 
elsewhere to provide for his family should the 
worst come to him or to his city. Hubert him- 
self, when he has disposed of the property in 
Antwerp, will leave that city. I should not be 
in the least surprised if he came to England. 
He may join the English army to fight for the 
Netherlands, or, if all is lost there, he will fight 
with me in France.” 

“With you?” cried Jeanne. 

“With the Huguenots under Henry of Na- 
varre,” replied Louis with kindling eye. 

Jeanne sighed, but it was to be expected : then 
the pastor and Louis talked long of the latest 
news from France. As did almost every Hu- 
guenot at that time, Louis idolized Henry of 
Navarre, believing him to be the bravest, 
most incorruptible prince in Christendom, the 


A New Home. 


175 


greatest of military geniuses, the most loyal to 
the true faith. If old men like Pastor Bercier 
ever wondered what he might do should there 
come to Henry the choice between the crown 
of France and the religion he professed, young 
men like Raymond had no fears. He would 
never desert the Huguenots; he was their 
champion, their Greatheart. 

Raymond became so eloquent in the praises 
of his prince that little Marie loudly bewailed 
that she was “ only a girl,” and could never 
fight under the banner of this dauntless hero of 
the white plume. She turned on Bertrand as 
they sat together on the oak settle in the fire- 
place, saying in a low voice and with unusual 
earnestness, “It seemeth to me very strange 
that thou art not eager to be a soldier ” 

“ All men cannot be fighters,” said Bertrand. 

“Cowards cannot be,^’ quoth Marie with the 
little ruffled-up air of a quarrelsome bird. 

The youth looked at her without a trace of 
vexation in his clear eyes; then a thoughtful 
shade fell on his singularly innocent face. 

“ I wonder so much,” he said, half to himself, 
“how during all the past years of war and 
bloodshed men have found time to do beautiful, 


176 


JacoVs Heiress. 


peaceful work and to study how to make them- 
selves and others good. Soldiers never could 
have built the beautiful cathedral here in Can- 
terbury — such fine lace-work in stone, Marie, 
as I found to-day; and men praised God that 
way by making his temple beautiful. Then the 
learned men I see there in the rooms where 
they keep the rare books and manuscripts. I 
would rather know what they know than run a 
sword into another human being with flesh and 
blood like my own.” 

“But if thou wert fighting for religion?” 
argued Marie, amazed at such perversity of 
opinion. 

“ Father talks and acts as if religion was 
loving God and all his creatures. If I did not 
love my own father, dost thou think I should 
begin if Eaymond were to half kill me, mangle 
me, and tear off my arms and legs?” 

“But men must fight or wicked people will 
rule,” Marie returned, for if but a child she was 
not dull. 

“ Wicked people ruled when Jesus Christ was 
on earth, but he did not tell his disciples to 
fight.” 

“ Then thou thinkest it wrong for my brave 


A Next) Home. 


177 


cousin to help our noble prince save France 
from such horrors as St. Bartholomew’s day?” 

“I am not thinking now or ever what is 
wrong for some other 'man, for it taketh all my 
time and my wit to learn what is right for 
myself,” replied the young fellow very simply. 
“ It may be I am stupid, but I have no call to 
bloody battlefields.” 

Marie gazed at him in a puzzled way, not, as 
usual, mocking. After taking notice, as if for 
the first time, of the clear beauty of his girlish 
face, flushing now in the firelight, she remarked. 
It is well perhaps, for thou hast no look of one 
who could fight long or fiercely. I make no 
doubt thou wilt be a good man, if not a brave 
one.” 

“ Can only fighters be brave, little one ?” 

Before Marie could answer Mere Bercier sent 
all to bed. 

The days that followed Louis’ coming were 
the happiest the little circle had known for a 
long time. Madame Bercier had the pleasant 
charge of her new bright house. The good 
pastor went about his visitations of the poor 
or the sick with a heart untroubled by fear of 
coming evil. Every Sunday his faithful Chris- 
12 


178 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


tian friends met for service, protected by Protest- 
ant power. 

Louis, now that he was, after so long a time, 
again in a happy domestic band free from want 
and troubles of war, was fain to rest a while. 
Jeanne and Marie made much of him. With 
him they explored every corner of the quaint 
city, all the exquisite haunts in and about the 
cathedral. They roamed the woods and took 
him for long rural wanderings. Sometimes, in 
the warm fragrant recesses of a forest silent save 
for the note of bird or the low of distant cattle, 
Louis would wonder if that fearful scene of 
carnage on the dyke was not a nightmare — if 
the summer sunshine was not shining into the 
Van Schendel dining-room — if the calm-faced 
vrouw was not sewing, with Sophie at play — if 
Jacob and Dorothy were not jesting together 
over the shining pans and kettles — if the 
burgher, hale and smiling, was not chatting 
with some neighbor. In the mean time Louis 
was impatiently waiting some news from 
Hubert. 


CHAPTER VIIL 


LEFT IN LEYDEN. 

J^IFE had gone hard with the dwarf. No one 
grieved more sincerely for the Van Schen- 
dels than he. When the home was broken up 
he would gladly have followed Hubert’s for- 
tunes as his faithful squire. But poor Vrouw 
Kiesling was then a widow, and by the changes 
of the times left utterly destitute, ill and dis- 
couraged. The dwarf cared for her as best he 
could, and with a heart whose heaviness Hubert 
never appreciated saw his young master depart 
for England. Hubert had not supposed Jacob 
capable of much devotion or any enthusiasm. 
He had been gone nearly a year when Vrouw 
Kiesling died and Jacob was free to go where 
he would. He resolved at once to follow 
Hubert. 

No one in Antwerp seemed to know where 
the young man could be found, but it occurred 
to Jacob that if he could find Sophie, she would 

179 


180 


Jacob's Heiress. 


be able to tell him of Hubert’s whereabouts. 
He had no idea where, in Leyden, Sophie had 
gone, but believing it could not be very hard 
to trace her, he went thither. For a fortnight 
he watched every yellow-haired child he passed, 
went from church to church, questioned chil- 
dren at play in the streets about Sophie, but all 
in vain. 

One day he was loitering at a street-corner 
near the market-place, gazing with half-open 
mouth at passers-by who took him for a fool. 
His dull eyes seemed not to see either people or 
things. Nevertheless, he saw all — the comfort- 
able old burghers, the students on their way to 
college, even the little brown birds flitting in 
and out among the gables of the picturesque 
old buildings around the market-place. Sud- 
denly he sped across the square after a child 
who had just turned into one of the sleepy old 
streets where lived many wealthy inhabitants. 
The little girl lingered, looking up between the 
lime tree branches, and Jacob soon overtook her. 
His uneven, clumping step made her turn. 
“ Jacob !” she cried out as he exclaimed 
“Sophie!” 

She caught his great dirty paws in her soft 


Left in Leydefn. 


181 


little hands, her face all aglow with delight. 
Her joy surprised the dwarf, who stood looking 
her well over before he heeded her talk. She 
was taller and had regained the plumpness 
natural to her age. She was ver}^ pretty, with 
something sweet and appealing in her clear blue 
eyes. The dwarf in his slow way studied care- 
fully her attire. It was clean, but old and 
almost like a servant’s. Her friends must be 
poor, he thought. 

Sophie,” he said, I have watched for thee 
as a cat for a mouse. Where is Hubert?” 

^^Oh, Jacob, knowest thou not?” 

All the joy faded from her face. She seemed 
about to burst into tears. 

No : I want to follow him. I thought 
surely thou couldst tell which way I must needs 
go. Come, sit here on this church-step and tell 
me all thou canst, and how it goes with thee. 
Thou hast a dinner these days, or thy cheeks 
would be hollow.” 

“ Oh, Jacob, I have dinners, but I was happier 
starving in Antwerp. After dear Vrouw Van 
Schendel died and the strangers took our house, 
Hubert said he must go away to be a good man 
and do the work his father would want done. 


182 


Jacob's Heiress. 


He said I was his own little sister, and some 
day, when he had a home, I might live with his 
wife. He brought me here to a good lady. She 
was very fat, not sweet like Vrouw Van Schen- 
del, but with hair on her face almost like a 
man. The house was very grand. I was lone- 
some, but the lady was kind ; only I had noth- 
ing to do but play with her dog. Hubert went 
away after he told me the lady would be good 
to me. I saw him give her money and heard 
him tell her that I was to have the same things 
that his sister Elizabeth would have had. Then 
he kissed me, and I cried to go with him. He 
cried also — canst thou believe that^ Jacob ? He 
told Vrouw Menin (that was her name) about 
his mother, and said she was like my own. 
Then he went away.” • 

“ But where, child ? Did he not say more of 
the place he would go to first and at what he 
would work, as you call it?” 

“He said he would return to Antwerp, and 
then go in a boat to England — to that place 
where — London they call it — dear Monsieur 
Kaymond went also.” 

“ But thou hast still a good home, Sophie?” said 
Jacob as the little girl suddenly wrung her hands. 


183 


Left in Leyden. 

“ Oh, Jacob, that is the dreadful thing, that I 
can’t tell Hubert ; and what if he never comes 
back? When he had been gone a few weeks, 
and I was almost happy in the garden with the 
dog, one day at dinner Vrouw Menin fell dead 
out of her chair. New people came then to 
the house and said it belonged to them. They 
treated me as if I were an ugly cat. They asked 
me what I was doing there, and where I came 
from. One night I told the new lady — (she is 
big and wooden-looking, like the images in 
churches, and wears many rings and a great 
head-dress), — I told her how thou found’st me 
long ago in the streets. She pushed me away, 
and all the rest looked black at me. They 
called me a beggar. Next day the new servants 
said I might better go into the streets again as I 
was that time in Antwerp. They would not let 
me eat with them nor stay in the room that I had 
slept in. I was afraid to go away, for where 
could Hubert find me? And oh, Jacob, how 
dreadful it was !— worse, much worse, than when 
we were so hungry in Antwerp. Then, when 
Vrouw Van Schendel kissed me, I felt warmed 
and as if I had eaten. The new servants let me 
have what they do not want after meals, and 


184 


Jacobis Heiress. 


one of them said I might sleep in a little place 
where the rats frighten me nights.” 

“ And thou livest there still ?” 

“ I had to stay, but now I work when the ser- 
vants ask me. I run to the shops for them. I 
never play. No one is good and loves me. See, 
my clothes are wearing out, and the servants 
laugh when I ask how to get more. I pray to 
God to send Hubert for me, but Hubert never 
comes.” 

Jacob listened with real sympathy, but gave 
no evidence of it as he sat musing after the 
child ceased talking. 

“ If we knew where Monsieur Raymond had 
gone,” said Sophie pensively, “ we might find 
out about Hubert, for he told me he should find 
him first of all.” 

“ Ho ! he did say that !” exclaimed Jacob. 
“Well, one told me but last week that the 
Frenchman had gone to a town in England 
w’here many Huguenots go. I forget the name, 
but can easily learn it.” 

Jacob was not very much wiser about geo- 
graphical matters than Sophie, but both knew 
that the sending of a letter and the waiting for 
its answer was an undertaking most likely to 


Lcfl in Leyden. 


185 


come to naught and sure to take weeks, prob- 
ably months, for anything they knew to the 
contrary. But if Sophie could not help him, 
Jacob might help her. He resolved to go home 
with her to tell the people sheltering her that 
she was not friendless nor a pauper. If they 
knew all, she would be differently treated. He 
explained this to the child, who gladly led him 
to one of the most pretentious dwellings in the 
street. They disappeared within the handsome 
entrance, and remained in the house a quarter 
of an hour. At the end of that time both 
reappeared, Jacob with a puzzled expression on 
his usually stupid face, Sophie looking half 
frightened, half pleased. 

The dwarf muttered something about return- 
ing to the church-porch to think, and Sophie 
followed. He seated himself and with much 
inward disturbance and outward contortion 
reflected that he had blundered in seeking to 
help Sophie. The arrogant mistress of the 
house had questioned him, and learned that 
Sophie had no relatives, but depended on 
Hubert’s bounty. She professed to believe that 
Hubert had left her as a dependent on Vrouw 
Menin. The latter was dead, and her heirs-at- 


186 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


law had no intention of adopting stray orphans 
or outcasts for her sake. If Jacob knew Sophie, 
let him care for her himself. So, before the 
dwarf could protest, the mistress of the house 
had ordered her servants to ‘‘ turn out together, 
once and for ever, the fool and the beggar.” 

Sophie went almost gleefully, for Jacob was to 
her a being as kindhearted as he was ill-favored. 
He would know what to do with her, she ar- 
gued. But Jacob was at his wits’-ends. He did 
not know a single friend of the Van Schendels 
here or in Antwerp to whom he could take 
Sophie. Their well-to-do Protestant friends had 
removed from the city after it returned to the 
faith of Rome. He knew that Hubert loved the 
child. She was associated with the last two 
years of his mother’s life. She was to him 
.another little sister in place of his own. Jacob 
turned and looked at Sophie again. She was 
very innocent and childish, but she was twelve 
now, and fast growing a tall, beautiful girl. To 
let her be unprotected in those lawless times, to 
leave her to strangers, — Jacob knew the wicked- 
ness of a world he had lived in a quarter of a 
century. She must stay with him until he 
could find a protection for her that he could 


187 


Left in Leyden. 

trust. They were ill-assorted companions, but, 
dwarf as he was, Jacob had strength not to be 
trifled with. Better still, in his ugly body was 
a clean soul with as pure thoughts of kindness 
toward this pet of his departed mistress as any 
woman could have had. 

^ “ Jacob,” said Sophie at last, “ what is it that 
troubles thee ? I will be very good if only we 
can go straight to England. If we cannot find 
Hubert, we might find Cousin Eaymond (he 
said I might call him that), and I could live 
with his people.” 

Jacob stared at her, then at the architecture 
of the houses opposite. 

“ I have money enough to get to Rotterdam. 
By boat I think we might sail to Dover, and I 
have surely heard that this place where are 
many Huguenots is near Dover. Once I hear 
the name again, I shall always remember it. 
We can talk no English, but I can make shift 
to buy and to bargain in French, even if Ray- 
mond used to call it a Dutch sort — this French 
I have picked up in Antwerp.” 

Jacob was apparently talking to himself, but 
again Sophie caught firm hold of his big hand, 
crying with great gladness, “ Oh, how good thou 


188 


Jacob's Heiress, 


art, dear Jacob ! How happy I am ! I could 
dance and sing.” 

Jacob grinned. He was not demonstrative. 
He sat a long time thinking before he sent 
Sophie to buy something for their noontide 
meal. They ate it on the church-steps, scatter- 
ing their crumbs to the birds. Then Jacob, who 
had more religious faith than he cared to con- 
fess, sent Sophie into the silent church to pray 
for success before they started on their uncertain 
journey. 

Early in the afternoon they set out for Rot- 
terdam. Sophie was a brisk walker, and she 
felt as if out for a joyful holiday. It was sum- 
mer, and the country, flat, uninteresting, and 
poverty-stricken, was yet beautiful to the child. 
How could it be otherwise when wild flowers 
filled the grass, birds sang, and the sky was 
sunny ? They rested at night in the cottage of 
a kindly peasant, who sold them food for the 
next day, and quite too soon for Sophie they 
reached Rotterdam. 

For two days Jacob haunted the wharves 
before he could find any vessel going to Eng- 
land on which he could get a place for himself 
and the child. At last, after helping to load a 


189 


Left in Leyden. 

boat and thus showing his strength and willing- 
ness to work, Jacob was able to provide for his 
own passage and pay for Sophie’s. The crew 
w^ere all Dutch, but some of the roughest were 
fathers, and after hearing Sophie’s story they 
were very kind to her. 

But what terrible days those were to her! 
The food was very coarse, the vessel dirty. The 
vile odors alone would have been enough to 
sicken any one but a sailor, even if the ocean 
had been calm. But there came up a long 
storm, and the old boat was pitched about most’ 
frightfully. Many times Sophie, cold, wet, and 
fainting, wished that she had died in Antwerp 
with her adopted mother. Jacob did his best 
for her. When not at work he tried to tempt 
her to eat. He made a hammock for her in the 
cleanest place to be found. When she was 
weakest he carried her in his ungainly, great 
arms, and told her weird legends and wonderful 
hobgoblin tales to take her thoughts off her 
troubles. 

The winds were fierce and long continued. 
The boat was driven much farther south than 
she should have gone. When at last they came 
to land once more, they were nearer London 


190 


JacoVs Heiress. 


than they were to Canterbury, so they made 
their way first to the great city. How astonish- 
ing the street sights were to Sophie, and not 
much less so to Jacob ! Antwerp seemed a dull 
place in comparison. A countryman on the 
boat had told Jacob of a Dutch lodging-house 
where they found their first shelter. There were 
certain friendly people in it who wondered 
much over the child and the dwarf, and Jacob, 
seeing they knew more of England than he, 
asked their advice. His small stock of mone}" 
was very nearly exhausted. To w^ander about 
with Sophie, like a couple of vagrants, was to 
subject her to great hardship. Indeed, she was 
just then very frail from what she had already 
endured. The woman of the house, a decent 
body, counseled Jacob to let Sophie rest for a 
month or two while he sought work down at the 
docks. He knew all about mending and even 
building boats, that having been his father’s 
trade. In the mean time there might be found 
some one going to Canterbury who could 
inquire among the Huguenots for a French- 
man by the name of Raymond or a Dutchman 
called Van Schendel. Jacob had never heard 
why either of the two had any interest in going 


Left in Leyden. I9l 

to Canterbury, never having heard of Pastor 
Bercier or of Raymond’s family. 

Accordingly, Jacob sought and found work 
enough to keep himself and his charge, though it 
was in the humblest way. Sophie saw poverty oL 
the cleanly sort, but was contented. Bette Broeck 
never abused her, and sometimes Katrina, the 
landlady’s fat and stupid daughter, let Sophie 
go sightseeing with her. The child began to 
learn self-reliance, and before long she became 
very happy and actually seemed to grow an 
inch every night. Jacob was vaguely puzzled 
after a time. What would he do with a 
tall, beautiful young girl on his hands? She 
looked already out of keeping with everything 
and everybody about her, like a white rose- 
bud on a pile of dirty turnips, as he rather 
practically reflected. 

After a while Jacob met a tradesman who 
made occasional journeys to Canterbury, and 
during one of these, at Jacob’s request, he start- 
ed many inquiries among the Huguenots. His 
business as a silk-dealer took him among them. 
None of them remembered any one by the name 
of Van Schendel or Raymond. One woman 
thought there was an orphan girl named Ray- 


102 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


mond, but she was an adopted daughter of the 
pastor. All her friends were dead. 

It is surprising how rapid will sometimes be 
the development of a child’s intelligence, how 
suddenly clear becomes the understanding of cir- 
cumstances, motives, and contingencies. Sophie 
left Leyden a child only eager to get away from 
unkindness. She had been in London but a 
few months, and had overheard several conver- 
sations regarding herself, when she began fully 
to appreciate Jacob’s perplexity. She said to 
him one evening, “ If I had stayed in Leyden 
long enough, Hubert must some time have sent 
a message or returned. Is it not so ?” 

“ It is truth, Sophie, and I meddled to help 
and made out to harm thee, I fear ; for however 
master will find us or we him in this great ant- 
hill, passeth me to tell.” 

“ If it were not for me, Jacob, thou couldst go 
everywhere searching.” 

“ Stopping in one place may not be the quick- 
est way to find him. If times were not as they 
are, thou couldst go into a convent and live 
quietly like a young lady.” 

“We are not Roman Catholics, are we?” 
asked Sophie artlessly. 


Left in Leyden. 193 

“Here, yes — there, no— if needs be,” was a 
reply all unintelligible to her. 

“ If there were only some one to take care of 
thee, never fear but I would track out young 
master.” 

“ I could stay with Katrina,” said Sophie 
slowly — her present life was endurable — “and 
wait for thee to go searching.” 

“ I have not money to pay for thy keeping, 
little one.” 

Sophie pondered long over his answer. 

It was now almost winter, and as the child 
went about the wet, dismal streets she was often 
reminded of the days of her poverty and wan- 
dering in Antwerp. Not that she was left 
hungry or homeless now, but she longed for — 
she scarcely knew what. One afternoon Katrina 
had to go a long walk, and Sophie went with 
her. It was early in the afternoon when they 
started, and the sun beamed softly through a 
yellow mist. Katrina’s errand led her by the 
abbey, and she yielded to Sophie’s entreaties to 
go in for a look. The child expected to see a 
church wnth pictures, shrines, and gorgeous 
adornments. The vast interior was very 
strange, and so unlike anything in the Nether- 

13 


194 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


lands that Sophie was deeply interested. In 
vain Katrina urged her to hasten; at every 
step something new or impressive claimed her 
attention. When at last they came out again 
from under the great portal, the fog was dense 
and turning to rain. Katrina was as nearly cross 
as her stolidity allowed. She warned Sophie to 
keep hold of her gown or she would be lost in 
the crowd of people who could scarcely see one 
another. They turned toward the river, hurr}^- 
ing along, when a greal clatter and shouting 
attracted everybody’s attention. There was a 
party of riders, ladies and gentlemen, no doubt 
returning from some feast. They were richly 
attired and accompanied by attendants in livery. 
Suddenly they halted, the leaders insisting that 
they had mistaken their way. Sophie, utterly 
forgetful of Katrina’s gown or Katrina’s self, 
pressed forward to see a lady very close to her. 
She was so richly arrayed that the simple little 
girl at once assumed that she must be Queen 
Elizabeth, of whom everybody in England 
talked. There was a loud and laughing dispute 
among the cavaliers, then the whole party 
whirled about with horses rearing and prancing. 
The hoofs of the lady’s horse struck tire out of 


195 


Left in Leyden. 

the stones. Sophie sprung aside, startling the 
horse by the motion. There was a wild career- 
ing of steeds. Everybody got out of the way 
— only Sophie. She was rolling under the 
dancing feet of the lady’s horse. 

Katrina, too long used to London street scenes 
to heed the progress of the cavalcade, had gone 
placidly on. The noise of the horsemen had 
ceased before she missed Sophie. She spent a 
good half hour wandering back and forth, 
audibly scolding the child she had lost; then, 
fearing night would overtake her, she went 
home to report Sophie missing. Jacob was 
much disturbed, but Bette Broeck assured him 
that Sophie would escape harm. She was so 
evidently poor that no one would detain her for 
a reward, and she knew enough English to tell 
where she belonged. The dwarf had to be con- 
tent until morning, but when weeks went by 
and he could find no trace of Sophie, he grieved 
sincerely, perplexed as he had been by his 
guardianship of her. Before Christmas, Bette 
Broeck removed her goods, chattels, and lodgers 
to a street near London Bridge, and Jacob 
decided to return to Holland. He often asked 
himself why he should have found the child 


196 


Jacobs Heiress. 


homeless in Antwerp only to take her to 
London and lose her there. He put up a great 
many more prayers for her than ever he had for 
himself. 


CHAPTER IX. 


ANOTHER HOME. 

J’T always seemed to Sophie in after years that 
she had spent a month in dreamland. First 
came the gay, dancing steeds and gorgeously 
dressed people, visible for a moment in the 
London fog. Then a terrible nightmare of 
pain, of stupor, of being moved, pulled about, 
hurt by hands that seemed gentle. Strange 
voices, a new bed, more pain, fever, creatures 
that surely belonged to wild dreams, for they 
walked head downward on the ceiling. Finally, 
things grew clearer, and one day Sophie, open- 
ing her blue eyes wide, saw a broad band of 
sunshine across a big, low room that looked very 
pleasant. A bright fire sng^pped in the big fire- 
place, on each side of which was an oak settle. 
Another wide oak seat ran along the wall under 
the long high window with its tiny diamond 
panes. There were comfortable chairs, many 
wardrobes and chests, shelves and cupboards 
filled with household supplies. A woman about 

197 


198 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


fifty, with sharp eyes, sharp nose, and cheeks 
like red apples, sat sewing by the fire. She was 
too well dressed to be a servant, according to 
Sophie’s Dutch notions, but she wore no jewels 
or lace — only a great bunch of keys hung from 
a silver chatelaine at her belt. 

Sophie herself was lying in a large, wide bed 
furnished with everything comfortable and 
sweet with cleanliness. She could see through 
the window the tops of snow-covered trees, and 
— where was London, Jacob, Bette Broeck? 
where was she herself? Her leg w^s tied up in 
straw and felt very queer and unwieldy. 

In a tremulous voice she asked (in Dutch of 
course), Where am I?” 

The woman rose, and, coming ’over and look- 
ing very kindly at her, talked for some minutes, 
Sophie not understanding one word. When the 
child began in her turn, the woman flung up 
her hands in despair that changed to amuse- 
ment. Then she brought from the hob a cup 
of warm broth that tasted most delicious, tucked 
the bed-clothes about Sophie, and left her puz- 
zled, hut very comfortable. She had not been 
so well cared for since Vrouw Van Schendel 
died. After a while the woman came b^^ck with 


Another Home. 


199 


two maids and a man-servant. The maids 
knew some French, and Sophie had learned a 
very little of that language from Louis Ray- 
mond, but they made nothing out of their 
attempts to talk. The man tried her with some 
Spanish phrases he had picked up. He was 
intelligent enough to know that she said some- 
thing about Antwerp, and it was decided she 
must be a Dutch child. 

The next day Mistress Jane (for so the maids 
called the housekeeper) curled Sophie’s soft hair 
in bright ringlets and dressed her in a pretty 
blue wool gown she had made for her. She 
propped her up in bed and gave her no end of 
information and advice, for which Sophie began 
to love her quite sincerely. Not that she knew 
one word that was said to her ; but she did not 
need to understand any language to appreciate 
gentle care-taking, lavender-water on her face, 
sweet milk, seed cakes, pats on the head, and 
tickling under her dimpled chin. About noon 
there was a great chattering outside the door, 
and in came a red-haired lady, with a great 
hoop inflating her silk dress and a wide ruff 
around her neck, but, as she wore no crown, 
Sophie decided she was not the queen. Two 


200 


Jacob's Heiress. 


pretty ladies were with her, and a young man 
who made more bows and flourishes than Sophie 
had ever thought one man could accomplish. The 
lady told him something about the child, and 
after a little he turned, asking Sophie in Dutch 
where she came from and who she was. 

Jacob had instructed her that in any case 
where there was reason in telling her past 
history to begin with the fact that her father 
was Ludwig Volmar of the once rich and pow- 
erful Volmar family, now extinct. 

The young man was English, but he had 
been in the Netherlands, and after hearing 
Sophie’s story in detail he assured the hearers, 
to whom he interpreted it, that it was quite 
credible. 

“ Of a truth the child has the look of one not 
born in a hovel; blood tells in the hands, 
though not always in a child's,” said the lady, 
taking one of Sophie’s in her own to study it. 

“Ay, but she is a beggar now,” said the 
gentleman. “ Dead ancestors who meanly carry 
their estates off with them are of small use now- 
a-days.” 

“ She is a pretty lass, and I doubt not will one 
day be a handy maid about the house. Leave 


Another Home. 


201 


her to me to teach, my lady, and some day she 
may ^ be fit to dress your hair or care for your 
laces.” 

It was the housekeeper who spoke, the warm- 
hearted old spinster who had cared for Sophie 
six weeks during a long fever following the 
broken leg. 

“'Keep her, keep her, Mistress Jane. ’Tis 
evident these last friends she tells of care 
nothing for her, though we will send word to 
the hunchback she speaks about;” and, with a 
not unkindly glance at Sophie, the grand lady 
and her attendants swept away to their grander 
apartments. Nothing finer wanted Sophie, for 
now came days of pure delight. Now always 
warm, always fed with abundance of the nicest 
food, she had Mistress Jane to teach her English, 
to fetch her somebody’s cast-off playthings, to 
4II0W her not one poor starving cat, but three 
kittens so fat they were cushions. And dogs! 
Such noble great hounds as Jane let come to 
visit her ! Then just about the time Sophie got 
on her feet it was Christmas, and an English 
Christmas was jollity — like nothing she had ever 
seen. This mansion of Lady Melton’s, in whose 
household Sophie found herself, was just beyond 


202 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


Chelsea. Lady Melton was a rich and somewhat 
important personage, often seen at court, and, in 
spite of folly and affectations most unseemly at 
her age, she was generous and kind-hearted. Her 
horse had trampled on Sophie and broken her leg ; 
Sophie must have a share in the Christmas fun. 
In a great house, where there were more than 
two-score servants, what difference could one 
little maid make ? So Sophie had again a home. 
She was not heartless, and she often grieved over 
Jacob, but when she was told he was not to be 
found she solaced herself with the reflection that 
when she was bigger she would find all her 
friends somewhere out in the world. She 
learned English readily, for she was always at 
Mistress Jane’s side. 

When the summer came it brought no end of 
delights. Sophie was no longer in a city, but 
had free range about the grounds that seemed to 
her like Eden itself. A beautiful lawn in front 
of the mansion sloped down to the Thames. At 
one side were terraces of flowers in bewildering 
variety and profusion ; behind was a deer-park, 
and beyond sweet country lanes and forest. 
Sophie had duties, but when she remembered 
Leyden, she laughed at so calling what were 


Another Home. 


203 


real diversions. She helped Mistress Jane, who 
was for ever compounding conserves and sweet- 
meats, gathering herbs, drying rose-leaves, and 
putting away mysterious mixtures far more 
potent than any known to leech or surgeon there- 
abouts — or so said Mistress Jane. 

On Sundays they had a long, charming walk 
between the hedgerows to church in Chelsea. 
Mistress Jane considered the little ivy-covered 
edifice a rare building, and pointed out with 
great pride certain family monuments. Sophie, 
used to the exquisite churches of the Nether- 
lands, wondered at her taste. Sometimes Mis- 
tress* Jane took her by boat as far as London 
Bridge and into the town. That was indeed a 
holiday! They went to shops most wonderful 
to Sophie, to see friends who welcomed and 
feasted Mistress Jane, and when they returned 
late in the day they more than once fell in with 
gay water-parties of lords and ladies of the 
court, and with such splendor* as Sophie had 
never beheld. Lady Melton, when by chance 
she came on Sophie, spoke kindly to her, and 
some of the young ladies and gay gentlemen 
about were inclined to pet her, and, finding 
she could sing sweetly, they flattered her, 


204 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


Mistress Jane promptly stopped all this. She 
was wise in her day and generation : “You 
will grow up a modest lass and a credit to me, 
or you will not bide here and sound was the 
teaching she administered. Sophie hardly un- 
derstood her then, but soon learned to respect 
her wishes. As the months went past Mistress 
Jane declared she could see her grow, and 
truly but for her face Hubert would not have 
known her. She ran up tall, slender, graceful 
as a swaying reed. Her fair complexion was 
more delicately tinted, her face more spiritual, 
than an English girl’s, but her eyes were her 
greatest beauty — serenely blue as the sky, !f she 
«were calm, like stars if she happened to be glad, 
dark and haunting with a kind of appealing 
tenderness when she was melancholy. 

For two years Sophie found full satisfaction 
in kittens, dogs, flowers, and birds. She 
learned to sew better, to underhand many 
housewifely arts. Her education consisted in 
a store of wise maxims imparted to her by 
Mistress Jane and in endless stories of events 
the spinster could remember or legends and 
traditions of the neighborhood. 

But about this time Sophie found a new com- 


Another Home. 


205 


panion, and one to whose good offices Mistress 
Jane freely entrusted her. There was a lazy, 
learned old chaplain attached to the household. 
He loved nothing better than to discourse of 
everything in heaven or earth if he could find 
a listener. About the time that Sophie began 
to ask questions which Mistress Jane found too 
hard to answer, the good-natured old chaplain 
one day surprised Sophie puzzling over one of 
his books left in a summer-house. He catechized 
her and found her eager to learn. He was a 
•good man, though indolent and unambitious. 
He was, moreover, singularly large-minded and 
sincere in religious matters. He gave Sophie a 
copy of the Holy Scriptures and bade her study 
it diligently. Above all he instructed her to 
read over and over the life and teachings of our 
Lord. The young girl’s questions were original, 
while her comments interested him so much^ 
that little by little he claimed her as a pupil. 
He fell into the habit of reading aloud to her 
from Gower and Chaucer, and then talking over 
what had been read. 

Time ran along, and Sophie was no longer a 
child, but a sensitive, modest young girl. She 
was naturally self-contained, and Mistress Jane 


206 


JacoVs Heiress. 


had read her many a lecture on the necessity of 
holding herself aloof from frivolity or flattery. 
Certain young fops, dangling about the ladies 
of the mansion, after one or two rebuffs from 
her declared she was truly Dutch — phlegmatic 
and slow. The old chaplain knew better than 
that. A year or more before this their long 
dialogues had ceased to relate to poeti^y, and 
Sophie had begun to ask about the times she 
lived in. For what were these never-ceasing 
wars? Who were the Huguenots? Was Henry 
of Navarre the hero some thought him? If 
England was Protestant and her religious lib- 
erty safe, why was she so slow to help the 
Netherlands when her help could have meant 
so much? Who was this black spider of a 
Philip of Spain, always weaving webs in which 
to catch his enemies? The chaplain was a 
a man who had little else to do but watch the 
times, muse on what went on at home and 
abroad, then from his knowledge of the past 
speculate over the future. He loved to hear 
himself talk; accordingly, Sophie in course of 
months absorbed a large amount of informa- 
tion. The old man would have been surprised 
at his pupil had she revealed the full extent of 


Another Home. 


207 


her knowledge of European matters. She asked 
questions and listened, seldom talking, but as it 
was he considered her a maiden of great good 
sense and quick wit. So protected, taught, 
and cherished, Sophie came to her sixteenth 
year. 

In that year a number of things happened — 
not very exciting occurrences, yet such as 
changed somewhat Sophie’s life. First, Lady 
Melton was found to have an incurable heart 
disease. Her physicians advised her to change 
her entire mode of living. No more dancing, 
masquerading, or hunting if she wished to pro- 
long her days. Perhaps her ladyship was not 
very sorry. Like her queen, she was no longer 
youthful, and gayety began to pall on ber. The 
young nieces who had filled the old manor- 
house with frivolous company were married and 
gone. That too was a relief. In their society 
Lady Melton had hated to admit that she was 
growing old. Now she need no longer strive 
incessantly to disguise her age. Still, she liked 
bright faces and youth about ber, and soon 
began to make demands on Sophie’s time and 
attention. The maids in the house had never 
considered Sophie one of their number, and, 


208 Jacoh^s Heiress. 

finding that she gave herself no airs of authority, 
they gradually acknowledged her superior re- 
finement. No one cavilled when she became 
madame’s daily companion, sitting with her, 
singing to her, eating with her. Sophie’s con- 
nection with the domestics ceased completely 
after the sudden illness and death of faithful 
Mistress Jane. 

Sophie in her childhood had been a sweet 
little singer, and even in the troubled days of 
her Antwerp life Vrouw Van Schendel had been 
charmed by the music of her voice. Now it was 
discovered by her ladyship’s friends that this 
voice was truly remarkable, being powerful, 
sweet, and true, while quite untrained. Lady 
Melton secured her a teacher, and Sophie was 
sure of one accomplishment worthy to be 
mentioned. She possessed another by no means 
common to all young persons of her day: she 
could write a good hand, spell tolerably yell, 
and express herself as elegantly as the chaplain 
himself. He, growing lazier every day, used 
often to employ Sophie to write letters for him. 
The exercise pleased her so much that she 
greatly desired some friend of her own to whom 
she might send long epistles. 


Another Home. 


209 


Telling him her desires one day, he advised 
her to keep a record of common events for the 
benefit of her children or grandchildren. Thus 
began Sophie’s journal. 

14 


CHAPTER X. 


SOPHIE’S JOURNAL. 

^^HIS is, it seems to me, the fairest Sunday 
that ever I knew ; yet can I not tell why it 
seems so. Since Mistress Jane died I have gone 
to no church. Lady Melton saith it is unbecom- 
ing a modest maid to be going about the 
country lanes alone ; so I bide at home. There 
is little church-going, any way, in these days; 
none seem to care for it. This morning Lady 
Melton wished not to arise before mid-day ; so I 
had hours to myself On Sunday, more than on 
week-days, I often remember Antwerp. I can 
almost hear Herr Van Schendel pray. People 
read prayers here if ever they pray at all. The 
day being so quiet, I sat me down with the 
chaplain’s Bible and read in the Psalms. How 
good God has been to me! Of a truth I was 
never without kind friends, save in Leyden, and 
even then Jacob did not fail me. No day goes 
but I pray that again I may see Hubert, 
Monsieur Raymond, and good Jacob., It is a 
210 


Sophie’fi Journal. 


211 


great world, but God can send one person to 
another if it pleaseth him. Lady Melton found 
me reading, and would know what I could find 
for me in a book for the clergy. There was 
much talk, she thought, of people having the 
right to read the Scriptures, but who really 
wanted to ? Not she. 

It seemed to me she knew nothing written 
there, and so I read her from the Gospels. It 
surprised her that she understood, and before I 
ended she had heard three chapters. She 
talked of it all then, and also asked me much 
of my past before I came to England. Then 
she made me sing for her. She was vexed 
when a servant came saying a gay party from 
London was even then at the door. 

Some among them there were whom I like 
not at all, and therefore Lady Melton kept me 
not when I would escape. I ran away to the 
park, finding it beautiful and still under the 
oaks. The sun was warm, and many spring 
flowers are already come. There nobody heard 
me, so I sang. All the birds sang too, and it 
seemed as if we must sing. Yes, God is so good, 
and his Son our Saviour is so merciful, how can 
people help loving him ? I think I will read 


212 


Jacobis Heiress. 


to Lady Melton every day. Herr Van Schendel 
was not of the clergy, nor was Louis Raymond. 
They loved to read the Bible. If it is full of 
God’s words, they must be the best words any 
one could hear. 

I am going to Rochester for a visit. Lady 
Melton hath a kinswoman there who sendeth for 
her. We shall stay, I am told, for six weeks or 
more. This pleaseth me, for her ladyship is 
grown very kind toward me, almost as if I were 
of her family. She hath given me a fine blue 
gown, a cap lined and edged with velvet, and 
a beautiful silk kerchief. 

We started early this morning with several 
men and maids. The day was fine, and we 
rode slowly, as Lady Melton wished not to get 
over-weary. Having stopped for long rest and 
eating, we came about sunset of the second day 
where we could see the great walls of the castle, 
built more than four hundred years ago, and, 
close by, the cathedral. There was a beautiful 
light on the river Medway, and, though I was 
more tired with the great journey than ever I 
was in my life before, I was almost sorry the day 
was gone. Her ladyship’s kinsfolks live on High 
Street, not far from the charity house lately built 


Sophie’s Journal. 


213 


for “ six poor travelers not being rogues or proc- 
tors.” We had some sport and jests about stop- 
ping there, but did agree that Richard Watts 
had not us in mind when building. His own 
house is not far away, and there has he once 
had Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth for his guest. 

We are come to a most quiet, old-fashioned 
household, ruled by a very old master and 
mistress. There is much comfort, if not the 
daintinesses her ladyship is used to have. 

The weather is getting more beautiful each 
day. ’Tis now almost May, and the country is 
a delight. One of the servants who came with 
us here is called “ Old Giles,” and her ladyship 
has made him my special attendant. He 
entered her service when a lad, and now he is 
more than sixty years old, very stout, very faith- 
ful, and withal a man of great shrewdness. 
Yesterday, as we were riding outside the town, 
he talked of the troublous times in England 
that he so well remembers. 

I have a pretty little jennet, and Giles a stout 
old cob, and together we are exploring the 
country. No Netherlander ever hated the 
Spaniards more than Giles hates them. He 
told me of seeing many of them in London 


214 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


about the time Queen Mary married the Span- 
iard — dark, cruel-faced men with cloaks over one 
shoulder and hand always ready with a sword. 
He hath seen several horrible martyrdoms in 
Smithfield, when men, women, and young girls 
have been burned. Almost under the spires of 
old St. Batholomew he saw three priests tbrtured 
and burned for reading the Gospel and allowing 
it to be read to their people. Yes, and he hath 
actually been near enough to Lady Jane Grey 
to hear some of her words that dreadful day 
when she was beheaded on Tower Hill. He 
had been sent to the house of one of the officers 
with hampers of wine, and, finding something 
unusual was under way, he managed to linger. 
Oh, it was pitiful to hear him tell of her sweet 
face and her gentleness — her words, ‘‘ I pray you 
all, good Christian people, to bear me witness 
that I die a true Christian woman, and that I 
look to be saved by none other means, but only 
by the mercy of God in the merits of his only 
Son Jesus Christ.” Her maids wept bitterly, and 
the hangman kneeled at her feet and begged 
her forgiveness for what he must do. She for- 
gave him most sincerely, only saying, I pray 
you despatch me quickly.” 


Sophie’s Journal. 


215 


“ It was bad luck to be too good, too rich, or 
of much account in those days. Mistress Sophie. 
Many a time I blessed my stars that I was a 
poor and stupid errand-boy, and that if I had 
any religion it was not enough to speak of.” 

“What a rejoicing there must have been, 
Giles, when Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth came 
to the throne!” 

“Well, there was less roasting of human 
creatures,” bluntly assented Giles, adding, grim- 
ly, “ It is well, though, for them as agrees with 
her. She is not for making very happy any 
who differ much.” 

“ Oh, I do not know about that. She shelters 
the Lutherans and the Huguenots, and she is 
not one of them.” 

“ Yes, but she wants not to quarrel with the 
Netherlands; and as for the Huguenots, I was 
once told there was talk of her marrying this 
Henry of Navarre, who has just won lately a big 
battle.” 

“Has he? and is he king?” I asked, for I 
had not had a conversation on public matters 
with the chaplain for some months. 

“ That I don’t just know,” said Giles. “ I 
heard that there was great rejoicing among the 


216 


JacoUs Heiress. 


Huguenots in Canterbury over this battle of 
Ivry, as they call it.” 

“ Oh, Giles ! Canterbury is near here, is it 
not?” 

“ No great way off, my lady.” 

“Then we could go there, could we not? 
have always heard of Canterbury.” 

“Naught hinders you if distance be all that 
lies in the way. ’Tis a grand city, to my think- 
ing. The cathedral is far finer than this one 
here. Still, Canterbury is a dull place now to 
what I remember it as a child. I was born 
there in Mercury lane, and was a boy in the 
days when pilgrims came to a Becket’s shrine. 
Such riches as that shrine held ! Nobody ever 
saw their like in England, or ever will again, I 
am told. I was a big lad when our queen’s 
father. King Henry, spoiled that. Rough work 
he made with shrines, convents, and churches.” 

I did not, after that, heed the old man’s talk, 
although I let him go on at length about the 
olden days in Canterbury. I finally interrupted 
him to say, “ If Lady Melton allows me, let us go 
over to Canterbury very early to-morrow, should 
the day be fair. I would fain see the old city 
and have time to go all about it.” 


Sophie’s Journal. 


217 


“ You will be well pleased, Mistress Sophie, 
and I doubt not of her ladyship’s permission. 
If you like, tell her Marjory Nelson, my sister 
and once her serving- woman, keepeth an order- 
ly, well-furnished house there, where I can see 
you cared for when hungry or tired.” 

“Thanks, good Giles; her ladyship will then 
trust me, I am sure, or trust you, rather, for she 
knows you can take care of me.” 

“ There is not much danger of highwaymen. 
’Tis a good old road, made a thousand years ago, 
men say. How they know I cannot tell.” 

“The chaplain says the Romans built it. 
They came here from Rome.” 

“ Hear to that now ! Well, ’tis the best thing 
I ever knew of them Roman folk, or their pope 
either.” 

I am writing this in old Canterbury, of 
which I have heard so much. I came yester- 
day with Giles, thinking to return by night. 
We came to his sister’s house, and Marjory 
Nelson made us welcome most heartily. She 
liveth in a queer little place, all up stairs and 
down, full of funny nooks and quaint corners. 
Some little windows show only chimney-pots, 
some frame beautiful pictures, and on every 


218 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


window-ledge she hath blooming flowers. I 
had seen only enough of Canterbury to All me 
with desire for more, when Giles said we must 
mount again. So grieved was I that Mistress 
Marjory bethought herself of a fine plan. She 
sent Giles back begging Lady Melton (who 
knoweth her well and trusteth her fully) to 
leave me with her as a lodger until such time 
as Giles cometh back for me. Marjory hath a 
comely, well-grown daughter who can guide me 
about the place, and a big bashful son who 
could be my knight in any perilous adventure. 
He burneth red if I but look at him, yet his arm 
is a thing of sinew and muscle. So Giles went 
away, leaving me happy. I have a little bed- 
room in a sort of tower, and a sitting-room built 
out over the path below. I can sit there like a 
bird hid in a nest, and see the street-scenes. 
Roses are budding on the vines that creep all 
over my windows. I have just eaten such a 
nice little supper sent me here, for I care not to 
eat with strangers below. I am very tired, for 
Giles took me to see many sights, and ’tis no 
small thing to stroll all about the cathedral, 
within and without. Oh, that wonderful, that 
beautiful place ! They tell me ’tis not half so 


Sophie^s Journal. 


219 


fine as when the Roman Catholics had their 
gorgeous shrines, statues, and altars there. This 
I cannot believe. The vast white halls and 
most wondrous arches need no frippery of 
velvet, gold, and tinsel. I thought there were 
no churches in England equal to my old be- 
loved cathedral in Antwerp; but this — Oh, 
the white silent beauty of it within and the 
magnificent, great mass of it without!— its 
towers against the soft blue sky ; the little birds 
flitting in and out its carved stonework! I 
think Canterbury is the sweetest, most heaven- 
like place for a home I was ever in. I so said to 
Mistress Marjory, but she hath laughed at me, 
saying I should see the brokeq heads here after 
a brawl. 

To-day is Sunday, and I have had a foolish 
exercise of mind that hath amounted to naught. 
I can never forget that Jacob agreed with me 
long ago that Monsieur Raymond and Hubert 
talked once together of Canterbury. I planned 
yesterday to go to the Huguenot services to-day 
in the crypt of the cathedral — why I cannot 
tell, since Louis Raymond is the only Huguenot 
that ever I have known. Catherine Nelson 
liketh nothing better than to show me new 


220 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


things, and so we started betimes down Mer- 
cury lane, through Christchurch gate, into the 
cathedral precincts. We easily found the crypt, 
but it was not anywhere near the hour of ser- 
vice, or so said an old man loitering there. I 
was surprised to see here all sorts of things used 
by the Flemish in making silk. The old man 
said the French and Flemish manufactories had 
been carried on here for thirty years by sanc- 
tion of the queen. I wandered about the clois- 
ters a while after that, until we heard music in 
the choir, and so went up to listen to the Eng- 
lish service. There were a goodly number of 
people in their seats, and one told me the sing- 
ing was to be something more than ordinary. 
Lo, indeed, it was, but all church music is to me 
uncommon. I begin to wonder what it is that 
is trying to sing itself out from the inside of 
my own heart. I always forget I am not alone 
if once the organ sounds. This morning I was 
thinking of so many things when they sang a 
song of thanksgiving. I was thankful, remem- 
bering how I had been cared for by God when 
there was no mother, no father, left on earth. 
I sang as if I alone had all the praise to utter 
for every soul there. It seemed as if no one else 


Sophie^s Journal. 221 

had so much to love God for. I fear much 
now that my voice was clearer than all the rest, 
and I made myself remarked. But when the 
reading began I was aware of a man sitting not 
far away who looked so much like Louis Ray- 
mond that my heart gave a great leap. At first 
I was sure it must be my old friend ; then I saw 
this man not only seemed older and more stout, 
but different from Monsieur Raymond after all. 
He was graver, had thinner hair, and a heavier 
mustache. One arm was in a sling. Still, I 
was so startled by the resemblance that I 
scarcely breathed until he turned toward me, 
and we looked straight into one another’s eyes 
for a second. I saw then that not the faintest 
recognition was in his own. I might have been 
anybody rather than little Sophie, his petite 
coiidne ” — I mean Louis Raymond’s cousin, for 
so he used to call me. But after this man 
turned away his indifferent glance I felt the 
tears filling my eyes. Oh, those dear old times ! 
I was little then, and people could pet me, and I 
could tell them how I loved them. I belong to 
no one now. Lady Melton is kind, and even 
affectionate, but she was never like Vrouw Van 
Schendel. Even as it is, I fear to show much 


222 


Jacol/s Heiress. 


affection for her ladyship, lest it be said I do it 
for gain. I overheard but last week a maid say 
that Miss Sophie was a silly creature if she did 
not make the most of her ladyship’s favor while 
it lasted. I am lonely, and dear Vrouw Van 
Schendel died thinking Hubert was to be my 
brother. 

When service ended I went down the long 
nave behind this man, but it was not Raymond, 
for he walked as if a little lame. This disap- 
pointment was so brief that I wonder much it 
hath made me so cast down. Mistress Marjory 
hath taken me for a long walk before sunset, 
even to Harbledown, and shewed me from afar 
the hospital for lepers. I tried to get back my 
cheerful heart of the morning by thinking how 
dreadful to be one of those wretched lepers. 

Mistress Nelson would know at last if I were 
ill or over-tired, so I told her something of the 
matter. She said there is a Huguenot pastor 
here whom all love for his goodness. He liveth 
in a house which she, even as we walked, point- 
ed out. She adviseth me to seek him out and 
ask if any persons by the names that I have re- 
membered are known to him. She says many 
Huguenots come and go, and he knows of all. 


Sophie^s Journal. 


223 


Monday Evening . — Never have I had such 
glad, such good news to write down since I 
began this record. Yesterday I resolved to find 
this Pastor Bercier, and was told that he is 
almost every noon at the cathedral. It was a 
day in which both Marjory and Catherine have 
duties many and wearisome, so I thought it no 
harm to go alone to seek the old pastor. He 
had not been to the meeting-place of his people, 
but he was expected there in a half hour; so 
told me an old weaver. Therefore I went again 
to the choir, and wandered about looking at the 
monuments. A man came from the crypt be- 
hind me, and as I was by myself looking at the 
wondrous gilded and colored tomb of Arch- 
bishop Chichele, who, I am told, founded one of 
the great colleges — All Souls’ in Oxford— some 
one spoke to me, saying, “ I am waiting here for 
my friend Pastor Bercier. Can I save you 
delay by giving him any message for you, 
madame?” 

I turned me quickly. It was the man who 
resembled Louis Raymond. He had the voice 
of Raymond. I could not speak for an instant, 
then I replied, “ I come to ask if he knows of 
Huguenots by name Raymond.^’ 


224 


JacoVs Heiress. 


He started at the words, and gazed astonished 
straight into my face, saying, “My name is 
Eaymond 

“ Oh, mon ami /” I cried. “ Oh, Monsieur 
Eaymond !” 

He stammered, “You are not little Sophie? 
You are — ” 

“ Little Sophie grown to big Sophie,” I said, 
half laughing and with my eyes filling with 
tears. I knew his voice this time for certain. 
He caught both my hands and looked wonder- 
ously glad and kind, studying my face as if it 
were a map of the places I had seen since we 
parted in Antwerp. 

“ My dear cousin (you once let me call you 
so), now I know why I gazed at you so yester- 
morn at service. I never fancied my pale little 
friend grown tall and rosy and — wholly differ- 
ent. Still, your face was like something one 
tries to recall — whether out of a dream or a 
face seen somewhere in the past, and forgotten, 
one cannot tell. Your voice too — little Sophie 
never sang very remarkably, but you made 
most wondrous music. And to find you in 
Canterbury! How will Hubert” — 

“ Oh, tell me of Hubert ! I feared I never 


Sophie^s Journal. 225 

should find him on earth. Is he well? hath he 
forgotten his little adopted sister?” 

“ Never has he forgotten her. Come, Sophie, let 
us come out into the sunshine. There is a bench 
in the grounds near the cloisters where we can 
sit us down and find out one another’s past.” 

We went down and out into the warm sun- 
light while Raymond was saying, “ Hubert went 
back to Leyden when he heard of his kins- 
woman’s death, but he found strangers in the 
house. They professed to know nothing of thee, 
but a servant said thou wert very unhappy 
while in the house, and that at last thou hadst 
run away, never more returning.” 

“ Indeed, I was most miserable there,” I said ; 
and, even though speaking of misery, I was 
happy to hear Monsieur Raymond say once 
more ^‘Thee” and “Thou.” He looked half 
startled too when he had thus spoken, for I 
think he found me so much more changed than 
I found him. We reached a bench where we 
could sit to talk, and he was always studying 
my face as I told him all that had happened 
since I met Jacob in the market-place. I even 
think (though I would not cherish vanity) that 
he found me more pleasant to look on than 

15 


226 


Jacob's Heiress. 


when I was a lean and hungry little one. He 
had no foolish way of flattery, as the young 
fops have who sometimes visit her ladyship. 
But he said whereas once I was hollow-cheeked 
and white, now my color was as the almond- 
blossoms of France, and my eyes — But I was 
foolish. He said when Hubert could not find 
me (and he searched diligently), he came with 
him (Louis) to England, having money affairs 
he must look after in London. Then he went 
back, and only gave me up after a year of use- 
less searching. Hubert then joined Raymond 
in fighting for the Protestant faith under Henry 
of Navarre. 

I never saw my friend so excited as when 
yesterday he talked of his hero and this glorious 
battle of Ivry that has lately taken place. It 
seems the battlefield was not far from Ray- 
mond’s former home. He described to me the 
hours before the battle when both armies — the 
League or Roman Catholic forces and that of 
Henry IV. — gave themselves to prayer. Then 
came a fearful thunder-storm, and after it a 
most terrible sight in the heavens : two armies 
in the clouds seemed to be having a furious 
fight, and the waving of their blood-red banners 


Sophie^ s Journal. 


227 


was solemn and mysterious. The Huguenot 
king had only eight thousand infantry and two 
thousand cavalry. The League had twelve 
thousand men-at-arms and four thousand horse- 
men. He says it was a glorious sight when 
Henry of Navarre rode out bare-headed before 
his army and prayed aloud to God for help. He 
pledged himself to die or to conquer with them ; 
then, putting on his helmet with three white 
plumes, he bade them look to those if the stand- 
ard failed them, for they would lead in the path 
of duty and honor. Raymond says it was a 
long, fierce fight, — that there was a time of 
dreadful suspense when the soldiers could not 
see their leader in the awful smoke from cannon 
and musketry. Louis was wounded in his leg 
and arm, but managed to keep on his horse, 
sometimes so faint he was only dimly conscious 
of the clang of sabres, the shouts of the soldiers, 
and the wails of the wounded. He was almost 
ready to fall and die when the shout went up 
from the Huguenots, “Victory! victory!” and 
men saw the three white plumes of their hero. 

Raymond had many old friends in the little 
village of Norman Court near by, and after the 
battle he was tenderly cared for. All this 


228 


Jacobs Heiress. 


happened in March, not quite three months ago. 
He recovered, but will never be able to fight 
again on account of the injury to his leg ; he 
will always be a little lame. One scarcely 
notices it, however. His arm is really w^ell, so 
he does not mourn, for he thinks the cause of 
liberty is secure. Henry of Navarre is a 
Huguenot, and Henry will rule France. 

Then another thing pleases Louis. It seems 
about the time that he was in Antwerp his 
ancestral estates were unjustly claimed by some 
count high in favor at court. Lately the count 
has died, and by a series of changes I do not 
remember the title to the old chateau is once 
more Louis Raymond’s. 

Before hearing all about the battle I made 
sure that Hubert was well. He is now in 
London, and I can soon see him ; he too is to be 
no longer a soldier, but will soon go to Leyden. 
There, in a city rejoicing in religious liberty, 
Hubert is to be a citizen. His father had a 
friend there, a banker, and Hubert is to be in 
business under him. 

All this we talked of, and much more. Louis 
used to tell me of a dear sister and a little 
cousin — Jeanne and Marie. All this time they 


Sophie’s Journal. 


229 


have been living in Canterbury with their 
former pastor, who brought them over from 
France. Hubert has been here often to visit 
them, and is coming very soon again. Ray- 
mond will bring them to see me to-morrow. 
Oh, to think of it all ! While we sat there 
Pastor Bercier came. He looked like a good old 
gray-headed angel, if there could be one. His 
eyes are blue, and he laid his hand on my head 
as no one ever has since the burgher Van 
Schendel died. 1 do not know how long we 
would have stayed there had the pastor not 
walked home with me. Mistress Marjory was 
astonished before she learned all I had to tell 
her. I was glad when she opened the door that 
the old pastor was there, for her first expression 
on beholding Monsieur Raymond at my side 
was peculiar. She told me later she thought 
him some gallant who had followed me home, 
and was wroth that I had not dismissed him. 
She called him by so m^ny fine names that I 
think he must seem of better breeding than the 
men one sees commonly. He maketh them 
appear somewhat clownish, I do perceive. 

To-day I stayed within doors, and made 
pretty the room with all the flowers I could 


230 


Jacob's Heiress. 


pluck in Marjory’s garden. I am well pleased 
that I have brought with me my new grey 
paduasoy gown with the lace frill. Marjory 
said it became me wondrously, and Catherine 
would have it that I put a pink posy in my 
girdle. I watched for my new friends with 
overmuch impatience, greatly desiring to see 
them, but, of a sudden hearing their voices at 
the door and their step on the stairs, I was of a 
tremble. I had never yet a young maiden for 
an acquaintance. It may happen that they 
find me strange-mannered. 

They came in together, and Monsieur Eay- 
mond’s beautiful sister took both my hands and 
kissed me. Never have I seen such beauty — 
no, not in London, where I have seen by chance 
even the great court beauties. She — this Jeanne 
— is darker even than Kaymond (but it is meet 
I call him henceforth Monsieur) ; her cheeks are 
like deep-red roses, and her eyes so large, so 
black, and so soft, with,lashes like silk. I loved 
this beautiful Jeanne the moment I felt her 
hand clasp mine. Then the petite Marie , of 
whom I have been told ofttimes in Antwerp — 
she greeted me. I used to be naughtily jealous 
of her then, for monsieur praised her as being 


Sophie’s Journal. 


231 


better-behaved than I. Now I feared her just 
a little. She is plump and rosy like the Eng- 
lish, but her blue eyes are mocking. They 
dance, and funny thoughts seem ever to make 
them flash. One thinks the humorous flashes 
may be for something about one’s self, and is ill 
at ease. They were all kind, talking as if really 
I were a relation, and when I asked about Hu- 
bert, Marie told me all I could wish to know. 
Jeanne did not speak half as much of him, but 
she very lovingly gave me to understand that 
he grieved for me. She said he had told her 
that I had come to him in the place of his own 
dear sister Elizabeth, and then his mother gave 
me over again to him. Jeanne has a tenderer 
voice than has Marie. They came early in the 
afternoon, and naught would do but that I 
return with them for a visit. I was nothing 
loth, so, after talking with Mistress Marjory of 
it, I made sure her ladyship could see nothing 
amiss in my going. We had a charming walk, 
coming very soon, as it seemed, to the Bercier 
home. I have in all my life seen nothing so 
cosy and pleasant. ’Tis not at all grand, but 
more simple than any save the servants’ rooms 
in Lady Melton’s manor-house ; but ’tis dainty. 


232 


Jacob's Heiress. 


I have heard that French folks make plain 
things pleasing where the Dutch and English 
make them only useful and ugly. I see ’tis a 
truth. There are nice hangings of tapestry and 
cushions where we have hard oak boards. The 
dishes we only eat from and put out of sight 
are here of finer shapes and set out on shelves 
for ornaments. But it was not the jugs nor the 
bright kettles nor the fiowers in the windows 
that first I heeded. Madame Bercier is to me a 
new sort of woman, so petite, so motherly, so 
like — Well, not like Vrouw Van Schendel, 
who, while gentle, was ever statelier than Lady 
Melton even ; not like her ladyship, who, if kind, 
is sometimes not quite natural with her airs and 
graces. Keally, Madame Bercier is most like 
brisk, busy, good Mistress Jane with her keys 
and her conserves. Madame is more polished, 
but she fussed over me just as Mistress Jane 
fussed over a guest whom she would make 
happy and comfortable. 

We talked all the long afternoon. Sometimes 
monsieur told of affairs in France; sometimes 
the girls asked me about my life. I tried very 
hard to let them see that I was a nobody, a 
dependant on Lady Melton’s kindness. At least. 


233 


Sophie’s Journal. 

if I am not an object of her charity (and I know 
I now return her services of affection for her 
kindness), I am by no means a young lady of 
social position. I could not seem, however, to 
make them know of how little importance in the 
world I am. I will wear my plainest gowns 
hereafter, and not speak of things to which 
Lady Melton has so accustomed me that I men- 
tion them, forgetting they are peculiar to the rich. 

Later in the day Bertrand Bercier, the pastor’s 
son, came. I like him very much. He hath 
the finest face that one can think of a man pos- 
sessing, yet a face without weakness. He is to 
be a pastor like his father, but Raymond tells 
me he will be far more learned. He studies in 
a school here close by the cathedral. He has 
gone into the English Church, and certain 
scholars are greatly interested in him, saying he 
hath in him fine material for a clergyman. His 
father is most fond and proud of him. All treat 
him almost with reverence, young as he is — all 
save Marie. I could fill long pages of my 
journal with Monsieur Bertrand. We cannot 
talk long enough together. He is sympathetic, 
and like one who ever understands what one 
but thinks to utter ere it gets into words. For 


234 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


the first time since I was a child I am with 
people who think and speak what is right and 
true, with no fear or care about seeming. 
Fashion and all those things that Lady Melton 
most admires are as far away as London itself. 
Religion even is not as with my good old chap- 
lain. It means more here. At the same time, I 
feel as if with happy young folks who are good 
and in whose sport there is no malice and no 
coarseness. The young people I have seen at 
Lady Melton’s are old in worldliness. The 
young girls say things I blush to listen to, and 
then flutter and giggle at double-meaning jests 
the gentlemen make before them. 

Madame Bercier had a feast for me, and we 
ate it under a great tree in her garden. She has 
flowers and plants all arranged as in France, so 
they told me. 

Afterward Monsieur Bertrand told me all the 
long story of this great cathedral. We sat in 
the garden until the moon came up. The 
pastor and Monsieur Louis had most earnest 
argument about Henry IV. of France. Ray- 
mond idolizes him. He thinks him the noblest 
hero, the kingliest king, who ever led an army 
of brave rnen to liberty and seated himself on a 


Sq)] lie’s Journal. 


235 


throne. Pastor Bercier, being old, is not so 
enthusiastic. He likes not some things in King 
Henry’s life, and he fears that he will under 
pressure become a Catholic rather than endanger 
his crown. 

The girls had a few duties with Madame 
Bercier, but Bertrand entertained me well. I 
forgot he was not as old as my good chaplain, 
and talked to him quite as if he were. Jeanne 
laughed at him when she came back to us. 
She said he had never time from his studies to 
waste with Marie and herself. He told them, 
teasingly, that they were old stories, but I was 
a new book. 

That night I slept in the little upper room 
with Marie, and asked her of Monsieur Ber- 
trand’s studies and what he would be. Men’s 
life is so different from ours. Monsieur Ray- 
mond’s seems full of adventure and change. 
Ours goes happening along, with no purpose in 
it. I talked about this to Marie, and said 
Monsieur Bertrand interested me because he 
loved the cathedral and was eager about his 
studies. He seemed to me very noble and like 
the Reformers I had read of, and his face had 
the look I remembered in a picture of St. John 


236 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


the Beloved I saw once in a church- window. 
I was so happy with all that had come to me, 
I fear I talked too much. Marie grew quieter 
and quieter, and once she said English girls 
were not so shy as French. I had not thought 
she was shy, and I am not really English, but 
I felt rebuked. I said when I trusted any 
one I almost thought out loud sometimes. She 
said she was more “ shut up fast ” with people 
she loved than with strangers. I was saying 
then something suggested by her “ cousin Ber- 
trand,’’ when she exclaimed quite shortly, ‘ He 
is not my cousin!’ I knew then she must be 
sleepy or tired of my talk. I said my prayers 
and fell asleep. 

The next day Giles came for me, and it is 
more than a week since I have taken time to 
write of what has occurred since then. I began 
this record when I had little to put down, but 
now more of interest has come to me. Giles 
brought kind messages to me from Lady Mel- 
ton. She did not know, of course, that I had 
found any old or new friends, and she did not 
say I must return. When, however, I had 
talked with Giles, it seemed to me I ought to 
go back, for he told me that her ladyship had 


237 


^ Sophie^ s. Journal. 

been very ill. The more I questioned him the 
more he reported from the maids — how she was 
now in bed all day, and had sent to London for 
her own doctor. The Rochester doctor had also 
been called to see her. 

It was still early, Giles having started at sun- 
rise, which at this season cometh, it seemeth to 
me, soon after midnight. All were as kind to 
me as if they had known me a long time, and 
they urged me to come again for another visit 
should Lady Melton recover. 

Monsieur Raymond was the quietest of all 
until I was about to depart ; then he said that 
as his horse had need of exercise, he would 
accompany me some way on my journey. Giles 
had brought my pony, thinking I might want 
to use it, so we were speedily mounted. It was 
a warm day, and all the wayside and hedges 
were abloom with wild flowers. I heard the 
song of a lark for the first time. Giles scowled 
fiercely at Monsieur Raymond during a half 
hour, but monsieur talked only to him for a 
while. His face cleared little by little, until he 
grew very civil and told monsieur all about 
hop-raising, for which Kent begins to be quite 
famous. Then Louis (I may call him so in my 


238 


Jacob’s ^ Heiress. 


journal sometimes) rode slowly my side, ask- 
ing me many questions. We had talked before 
of France, of wars, public events, of Hubert, 
and of Raymond’s family ; it embarrassed me a 
little to have him now keep ever the talk on me. 
He would know of my daily life, my pleasures, 
duties, what I had learned. He even wished 
me to sing to him as we rode along the quiet 
highway. I urged it was a shame to do that of 
a morning, when the larks were singing, but he 
said what tis silly to write. He hath a musical 
voice, and the eyes like Jeanne’s, soft and dark. 
He, being much older and acquainted with the 
world, has — is — Well, no doubt he would 
know if Hubert will find in me a sister whom 
he can care about or only an ignorant, neglected 
girl. He hath no reason to be interested in my 
manner of life for other cause. I sang for him, 
and told him all he would know. He turned 
not about until we saw the huge walls of Roch- 
ester Castle; then he bade me adieu, and by 
some other road sought an inn for rest and 
refreshment before going back. For what I 
should of a sudden grow so melancholic is what 
puzzleth me. I suppose I reflected that I might 
never more see this friend of my childhood. 


Sophie^s Journal. 239 

Lady Melton saith we have a peculiar affection 
for those whom we knew when young. 

I found her ladyship very weak and much 
whiter. Her own doctor, Fawkes from London, 
hath been here to-day. Poor Lady Melton ! It 
appeareth to me they are not half so anxious 
(this medical man of Rochester and this famous 
Doctor Fawkes) to find out how to cure the poor 
woman as how to combat one another. When 
either is alone with us he talketh in words we 
understand. When the two meet ’tis marvelous 
how learned is each. Her ladyship is now 
dropsical, and her feet do swell. This Doctor 
Humphreys of Rochester caused us to boil four 
live toads in two pounds of oil of olives for the 
space of an hour or till they burst, and with this 
oil we are plentifully to anoint her ladyship.* 
Doctor Fawkes of London thought better of a 
different remedy. He hath much to say of 
cardialgia, whatever that may be, and he dis- 
coursed for a half hour this noon of a certain 
cephalico-cardiac medicine that Queen Eliza- 
beth recommended to Rudolphus 11. It was 
“ composed of amber, musk, and civet dissolved 
in spirit of roses.’’ Doctor Humphreys kept 

* Remedy for dropsy in time of Elizabeth. 


240 


JacoVs Heiress. 


interrupting him with talk of “tumults in the 
ventricles of the heart, the veins, and the imag- 
inary rhomboidal receptacles in the muscles,” 
and quoting Tackbenius and Sylvius, Celsus 
and Hippocrates. Then they disagreed about 
“ mechanic ratiocination.” Alas ! I fear all their 
learning will do her small good. Both doctors 
use short words when speaking with me, and 
both tell me there is little hope she can live. 
She hath a long time had trouble with her 
heart, but has danced and ridden fast after 
hounds, which was bad for her. 

Last Tuesday, as I sat at my embroidery- 
frame with Lady Melton, she being for the first 
time in many days wholly dressed, a visitor 
was announced. We fancied him of little 
account, the maid not remembering his name. 
Behold, it was my adopted brother Hubert Van 
Schendel ! No sooner did he learn from the 
Berciers of my being here than he came post- 
haste. I would never have failed to know him. 
To be sure, he hath a beard and is a man, but 
’tis the same merry, kind Hubert who will be 
somewhat of a boy if he liveth a century. Lady 
Melton knew all — I had been wont to tell her 
of my old home; therefore she was in no wise 


241 


Sophie's Journal. 

shocked when he kissed me right cordially on 
either cheek. She liked him greatly, and so 
pressed him that he stayed the next day and 
night with us. We talked of all he had lived 
through, and of what had happened to me; 
then of the family in Canterbury. I was great- 
ly surprised to have him praise Bertrand’s 
wisdom, the pastor’s goodness, madame’s hospi- 
tality, and Marie’s fun-loving, but have never 
a word to say about Jeanne’s rare beauty and 
sweet ways — so winning, so debonnaire. I even 
spoke out my surprise to Lady Melton, to whom 
I had sung Jeanne’s praises. She called me an 
innocent. She said, “ Of a truth he talketh little 
of her, but let you only speak Jeanne’s name, 
and he blusheth like a maiden, his eye lighteth, 
and he hears little of what you say next. He 
loveth this Jeanne; ’tis plainer than plain to 
me.” 

Lady Melton and he had a long talk on the 
second day. He began it by saying I was to 
him a sacred charge from his dead mother. 
Lady Melton returned that I was to her like an 
adopted daughter. Then she made as if she 
would send me from the room, but at last de- 
tained me to hear what followed. She said to 


16 


242 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


Hubert that her death might occur at any time 
— that she wished to leave me a legacy sufficient 
to provide for me for life. She said she had 
amply portioned all who had any claim on her, 
and now her only care was to make sure my 
future. What troubled her was where I would 
go after her death, for a nephew would take pos- 
session of the Chelsea manor-house and he was 
a bachelor. Hubert then confessed that his 
errand now to Canterbury was to gain the Ber- 
ciers’ consent to his marriage with Jeanne. If 
he won her (and he had much reason to believe 
he might), they would live in Leyden. He was 
good enough to say that I should be taken into 
their home as a well-beloved sister. That 
pleased her ladyship much, and thereupon she 
sent for a barrister or two. They made out 
papers for her relating to this legacy that 
she would give me, and appointing Hubert my 
guardian. I have seldom seen her more pleased 
with a stranger than she was with Hubert. 
When he must go back to Canterbury she sent 
urgent invitations to all or any of the new 
friends there to come to Rochester for a visit of 
days. 

Hubert had been gone for a week, and I had 


243 


Sop1iie\^ Journal. 

begun to feel somewhat grieved that no message 
came by post for me from the new friends, 
when my heart was smitten with a more real 
sorrow. Lady Melton telleth me that it is borne 
in upon her that her days on earth will now be 
few. She is gentle, and clingeth to me like one 
younger than I. To-day it is most pitiful to 
think of what she telleth me. She is afraid to 
die. She said to me of a sudden, as I was 
smoothing her hair, “ Tell me, I pray thee, So- 
phie, if one told thee thou must die to-morrow, 
how would it be with thee?” 

When I had thought I told her : “ It seemeth 
to me I would at first be sorry to leave some 
people and things — to go away from earth. I 
would wish I had been better and done more 
for others ; then I would end all work I had to 
finish, ask our blessed Saviour to forgive all 
my sins, and die to awake in heaven.” 

‘‘ Thou art young, and cannot have much on 
thy conscience. The chaplain says thou art 
very innocent. I have lived a long life full of 
folly and only seeking my pleasure. Now all 
my follies look to me like sins, and they weigh 
me down. I never pray. I have no right to 
the saints’ heaven, Sophie.” 


244 


Jacobis Heiress. 


“The chaplain does not know my sins, dear 
Lady Melton. God knows I do wrong things 
and think wrong thoughts. Nobody has a right 
to heaven. Our Lord says, ‘ Come unto me, all 
ye that labor and are heavy-laden, and I will 
give you rest.’” 

“ Go, Sophie, and fetch the Bible. I see thou 
dost often read with the chaplain,” said her 
ladyship ; “ then read me about the forgiveness 
of sin. I must not die before I know that mine 
are not laid up against me.” 

I got the Bible, and we read about sins like 
scarlet being white as snow. They seemed true 
words and most comforting to me, but she 
looked sad and more troubled than ever. She 
talketh often now to me, and begs me pray for 
her, which I would surely do even had she not 
besought me. 

For a week now Lady Melton hath been so 
well I marvel that we thought her nigh to her 
death. It was Tuesday that she told me with 
all her own sprightliness to make myself fine 
for company, because guests would arrive at 
noon. Since her ladyship’s illness she has 
taken half this house for the summer, and hath 
sent for her Chelsea maids ai\d men, so we are 


245 


Sophie’s Journal. 

really a separate household, and make no 
trouble for our former entertainers. 

When I asked for whom I must make ready, 
she told me she had sent invitations to each and 
all of our Canterbury friends to spend several 
days with us. How happy their coming hath 
made me ! At first, when I saw the pious old 
pastor and simple Madame Bercier sitting down 
with Lady Melton, I wondered much of what 
their discourse could be. She talketh of routs, 
plays, cards, hunts, and masquerades with her 
London gentry, or did when well. To my 
relief (for I feared that she would shock them 
or else weary herself). Lady Melton told them, 
as honestly as she had told me, that she was 
soon to die and that she feared death. Shall I 
ever forget the way the old Huguenot and his 
wife comforted her ? They agreed that she was 
a poor creature with an empty, wasted life 
behind her, but they let her know the holiest 
saint does not earn a right to heaven. And 
how they spoke of heaven ! Why, it never can 
again seem far off to me. While they talked 
I actually thought those to be envied who were 
soonest to go. These Huguenots are a very 
hopeful people, brave for all they have to 


246 


Jacob's Heiress. 


endure of persecutions, and serene in thinking 
of the future. Some way, after that Lady Mel- 
ton was as natural and easy with them as she 
could have been with her father or mother. 
They told her long stories of France that 
amused her. They have a bright way — a 
French way — of saying funny things, especially 
madame, and I hear them laughing together. 
Her ladyship saitli they are better for her than 
ten doctors and all the priests or chaplains to- 
gether that ever she knew. 

Jeanne and Marie came first with the father 
and mother Bercier. The second day came the 
three others. Monsieur Raymond, Hubert, and 
young Bercier. Jeanne and Hubert are be- 
trothed, and they are so happy they seem dif- 
ferent from the rest of us who have no won- 
derful thing in our lives, like this love they 
have. I never saw such a look in any one’s eyes 
as comes into Hubert’s when he sees Jeanne 
unexpectedly. The sun appears to shine in his 
face, it lights up so quickly. Jeanne does not 
talk much, but she is quite ready to go to Ley- 
den. Raymond tells her she never will learn 
to talk Dutch well. She says Hubert has never 
talked French well, but they have understood 


Sophie's Journal. 


247 


one another. How fond Herr and Vrouw Van 
Schendel would have been of this beautiful 
daughter-in-law ! 

Bertrand is interested in Rochester, so we 
have walked together visiting such parts of 
the old castle as we might see. Yesternight, it 
being moonlight, we strolled around the cathe- 
dral. I suppose monsieur, now having told me 
of his past since we were in Antwerp, hath 
not any more of interest to ask or to tell. He 
falleth behind with Marie, while Bertrand hath 
not time enough wherein to talk to me of things 
all interesting and instructive. That soundeth 
as if he were like a pedagogue, ever teaching. 
Far from it ! I find that with his angelic face 
and his learning withal he hath young blood 
and \spirit. He is far more spiritually-minded 
than monsieur, yet, queer is it, I am silent with 
Raymond while giddy moods come to me and 
I jest with this Bertrand. Jeanne looketh sur- 
prised at our much fun and laughter. She 
saith I have changed natures with Marie. We 
think Marie grieveth to know Jeanne will so 
soon go away from her. She hath a sorry look 
in her eyes at times, and I can scarce see how 
she hath ever been the sport-maker they say 


248 


Jacob's Heiress. 


she is. Bertrand is teaching me about the 
Norman way of building. He draws pictures 
for me which I copy. Hubert tells me to-day 
that he will soon return to Leyden, to get all 
in readiness for his life there. At Christmas- 
tide he will come again for his marriage. He 
thinks that Lady Melton wnll die ere that time. 
If so be she does, he has planned all for me. 
I am to be received by the Berciers, and stay 
with them until the wedding. Then I go away 
to Leyden to be one of the new household there. 
Hubert is kind and I am fond of Jeanne, but — 
Something oppresses me. Will I not be an 
outsider, after all ? Their happiness cannot be 
mine. I really am no sister of theirs. I could 
almost wish I might stay in England with 
these old people in whose house we now are. 
To-day Bertrand spoke of the possibility of my 
coming to their home. He seemed glad. He 
loveth to hear singing. Marie singeth sweetly, 
if her voice is not strong. I cannot persuade 
her to sing with me. She likes me, if I mistake 
not, else why is she so thoughtful ^to do kind 
things for me? I find her looking at me wist- 
fully at times. I know not if she pitieth me 
that I have no relatives. Bertrand and Hubert 


Sophw’s Journal. 


249 


talked long together to-day, and Hubert later 
had a mind to tell me, he said, of their con- 
versation. He did not, but it could have con- 
cerned me in no way. They talked it (what- 
ever it was) over again with monsieur, and all 
day, I fancy, he wore a gloomy air. Perhaps 
he too laments over Jeanne’s going so far 
away, yet he liveth not in Canterbury. 

Lady Melton asked me this day if Huguenots 
ever married their cousins. She thinks Mon- 
sieur Raymond might in that case marry his 
cousin Marie, to whom he is very dear, no 
doubt. 

If so, perhaps they would go away to that 
sunny old chateau that he used to tell me about, 
and I never would see them any more. Alas ! 
marriages, like deaths, break up families and » 
make sadness for friends left alone. In those 
Antwerp times I liked to asked questions about 
Raymond’s old home and his people, but I was 
ever jealous of this unknown Marie, for he said 
she had a better temper than 1. 


CHAPTER XL 

SOPHIE’S JOURNAL {Continued). 



ONSIEUR Raymond goeth away to 


France, summoned there by affairs of his 
estate. I had gone to the garden to pick a 
posey for her ladyship when he came, and, 
standing under the big linden tree, said he must 
needs say adieu. The tears came into my eyes. 
He stood silent, yet as if thinking of somewhat 
he would say. He kissed my hand, telling me 
that perhaps when we met again it would be in 
Leyden. He should some day visit his sister. I 
could not talk. 

“Or,” saith he, looking me quickly in the 
eyes, “ little Sophie may find a home in 
England.” 

“ Have I not one now ?” 

“I mean not this” he said, “but my friend 
may marry to stay here.” 

He, Raymond, the friend who had, I thought, 
forgotten I was no longer a child, — he to speak 
to me of my marrying ! I felt the hot waves of 


250 


Sophie’s Journal. 


251 


red color roll over my face. I was almost angry 
at him, but angrier still at myself. It made 
him stiff. He added then a speech that came 
not easy — how he hoped, wherever I might be, 
only happiness would come to me, and after 
that he went away. I should think Jeanne 
would miss her brother more than appeareth, 
but then she hath Hubert. 

Lady Melton is weaker to-day. A sadness has 
settled down on me. I reproach myself that I 
am not more sorry our friends must return to- 
morrow. My life has been so quiet that seeing 
so many people all at the same time begins to 
confuse me. I shall not be sorry to be alone for 
a while with Lady Melton. I will read her all 
the comforting Psalms and Gospel words Father 
Bercier has marked for her. Again, I have writ 
Father Bercier.” It seemeth easy, because I 
have called the chaplain in Chelsea so, and this 
good pastor has grown very tender of me. 

All are gone again, and now the last few 
weeks are as a dream. I begin to love Lady 
Melton more and more. I am ever with her. 
She recalleth her early years, and giveth me 
excellent precepts and advice about m}^ conduct 
when she is gone. Her mind is at peace. She 


252 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


belie vetli God hath for Jesus’ sake forgiven her 
sins. All fear of death hath left her. Now she 
is cheerful, and sometimes most entertaining. 
Yesterday she told me of a great banquet she 
once attended in the Guildhall in London, when 
the lord mayor’s fool jumped into a big bowl of 
custard, and she telleth no end of tales about 
the court. She danced once with Lord Leices- 
ter, a man I little admire. 

To-day young Bercier came with messages 
kindly, but of no great import. I wonder at his 
riding so far to tell us that Hubert went to 
Ipswich, and thence to a port in Flanders, 
instead of returning some other way home : that 
seemed all he had of news. I was pleased to see 
the young man himself, with news or without. 
Had I an own brother, I could wish him like 
Bertrand. He has been to London since he was 
here, and told us of his doings there. He is 
very wroth that the queen allows the great 
cathedral of St. Paul to he so desecrated as it is. 
’Tis no proper sanctuary, but a mall for the 
lowest, coarsest business, a lounging-place for 
knaves, thieves, and ruffians. Lady Melton told 
him that her father was in St. Paul’s that time, 
about fifty years ago, when great piles of New 


258 


Sophie’s Journal. 

Testaments were burned, and cardinals,, bishops, 
and abbots rejoiced to see heresy blotted out by 
fire. That very time the Protestants of Antwerp 
were multiplying Bibles and starting them to 
England. Bertrand stayed to dinner, and after, 
when Lady Melton would rest, we walked in the 
garden. I made him tell me his recollections of 
France, of Monsieur Raymond’s mother, of Ray- 
mond’s boyhood, and about the girls, of course. 
Bertrand is singularly interested in Rochester. 
He says he is coming over here often to look 
at old documents telling of one Gundulph, who 
repaired the castle after a siege. He wants to 
know how much he built. It was five hundred 
years ago, so I should not think he would care. 
Bertrand is very learned. How can he be other- 
wise? for I think he reads every book men 
speak of. This afternoon he told me of a poet 
living here in England who hath writ a long 
sort of fairy-tale in verse, and dedicated it to 
Queen Elizabeth. He quoted some lines of this 
poet, and wrote them on a little tablet for me. 
We had spoken of Jeanne’s marriage, and I 
think that must have been in his mind. This 
Mr. Edmund Spenser might have meant Jeanne 
any way, only her eyes are black : 


254 


Jacobis Heiress. 


Tell me, ye merchants’ daughters, did ye see 
So fayre a creature in your town before, 

So sweet, so lovely, and so mild is she. 

Adorned with beautyes grace and virtues store ? 

But if ye saw that which no eyes can see. 

The inward beauty of her lively spright, 

Garnisht Avith heavenly gifts of high degree. 
Unspotted faith and comely womanhood. 

Regard of honor and mild modesty. 

Then would ye wonder and her prayses sing. 

That all the woods should answer and your echo ring.” 


He recited it very musically, only leaving out 
some lines, he said. It was very like Jeanne, 
all but the part he spoke — looking not 
quite as usual — about “ goodly eyes like 
saphyres shining bright, her forehead ivory 
white.” 

Giles came to say the horse he had ordered 
’ to be ready at that hour stood in waiting. But 
for the sun-dial near us Bertrand would have 
thought it scarce past mid-day, so he vowed, 
and he seemed put about. One thing was sure, 
he had not time to learn any stories of old 
Gundulph that day. He had kept me too 
long from Lady Melton, however, and I fore- 
bore not to say so, it being true. 

I hastened back to her, striving to interest 


SopJde\9 Journal. 


255 


her by all Bertrand had said, and I read her 
the poetry. I made her quite talkative. She 
smiled when I spoke of Jeanne, and she said 
it was a rare good thing for young maidens to 
grow up away from courts and worldly influ- 
ence. Her eyes grew soft and tearful once as 
she let me kiss her thin cheeks. She said she 
would fear to leave me, but for my new friends. 
I was very ignorant of the w^ays of the world. 
I reminded her she had but just said that sort 
of ignorance was a good thing. She said, “ Oh, 
Sophie ! little maid ! Thou wilt soon be wiser 
about some matters than thou now art.” After 
that she let me sing to her two or three hymns 
that she likes greatly, and we said together 
the twenty-third psalm. Twice over she said, 
“Though I walk through the valley of the 
shadow of death, I will fear no evil.” Before 
I went to bed that night she spoke again of my 
going to stay with the Berciers if she should die 
ere Hubert married. Of a sudden I spoke out 
a thought that came to me only that day. I 
asked her if for any cause it were not quite the 
best thing for me to stay with the pastor’s 
family, I might not abide with Marjory Nel- 
son. She is a God-fearing and a sensible 


^56 


Jacoh^s Heiress. 


woman. Her house is neat, and such part of 
it as pertained to me while I stayed there was 
apart from every place open- to the public. 
Catherine her daughter would be to me a maid 
if I needed her services. Lady Melton thought 
of all a while, and said, “ If Madame Bercier 
approve, it might not be amiss.’^ 


CHAPTER XII. 

DEATH. 

JT was a beautiful day of the early summer. 

A fine golden light seemed to fall like a 
shower on the streets of Canterbury, on the 
meadows and woodland, on the ancient build- 
ings and the distant upland. Pastor Bercier 
and Bertrand had gone to their daily duties. 
Madame, having removed the remains of break- 
fast, was about to feed her poultry when a mes- 
senger came to her from the village, as she 
always called Canterbury proper. Marjory Nel- 
son sent her word that Lady Melton had gone. 
Her death had been painless. The body was 
to be taken to London for interment in the 
family tomb in the church of St. Bartholomew 
the Great. Her relatives would attend to that, 
and Sophie, after carrying out a few instruc- 
tions in regard to her ladyship’s personal effects, 
would be ready to come to Madame Bercier. 
Two journeys to Rochester in as many months 
17 257 


258 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


were great events in inadame’s life, but it 
seemed to her a duty to go for Sophie. She 
arranged to accompany Marjory Nelson and 
her son, who would return with the man bring- 
ing the message. Her ladyship had left certain 
household stuff of a common kind to her for- 
mer servant. 

Jeanne and Marie, left alone, had enough to 
do and to say. The two girls had occupied a 
little room having a big fireplace and a low 
broad window. Overhead were the oaken 
beams, outside was a view over the garden to 
the forest. Inside was dainty neatness. 

“ Marie,” said Jeanne, “ doubtless Sophie hath 
been used to finer chambers than this of ours, 
and above all she may desire to be alone. The 
little south room where Mere Bercier dryeth 
her herbs, what of that?” 

If we remove the herbs elsewhere, they will 
have left but a spicy odor. If we put there of 
our best, it will be as good as the house can 
offer,” replied Marie. 

“I could go sleep there,” continued Jeanne, 
“ and let Sophie be here.” 

“Nay, nay, I cannot spare thee, and Sophie 
and I are but strangers in a way.” 


Death. 


250 


Strangers !’^ echoed Jeanne slowly. “Why, 
to me she seemeth already ” — she blushed as she 
added, “like a sister. How glad am I, if she 
will live with us, that she is not one disagree- 
able to me ; for in that case Hubert would still 
be bound to shelter her. I doubt much, though, 
if she ever return to Leyden unless it be for a 
visit.” 

Jeanne glanced at Marie with a pretty air, 
half important, half mysterious, and was sur- 
prised when Marie went on with her work, not 
even turning her head. 

“Marie,” she said plainly then, “I will give 
thee, a hint of a secret. Hubert told me that 
Bertrand finds Sophie the most beautiful and 
gracious creature he hath ever looked upon. 
Think of it! I never thought he would look 
away from his Greek and his Latin long enough 
to see beauty, unless it were in the stone carving 
of a choir.” 

“None hinted aught of that to me, but I 
thought it,” said Marie, adding quickly, “I 
go to take away the herbs and other things 
that M^re Bercier hath stored in the room. I 
leave thee to choose what furnishing we carry 
there.” , 


260 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


Alone in the bare little chamber fragrant 
with faint perfumes of sweet herbs, Marie lin- 
gered long over her light task. With splendid 
health, with exuberant animal spirits, with a 
warm heart and lively fancy, Marie’s life had 
been the happiest possible. She was too young 
when in France to know that life outside the 
chateau meant not the careless existence she 
had led in the old home — too happy in England 
to think that the future might not always be 
like the present. She was naturally more stir- 
ring in a housewifely way than Jeanne, and so 
helped Mere Bercier about her pleasant tasks. 
She was fond of society, and went among her 
country -people, making every young person her 
friend. She had from the first been an energetic 
little helper for the pastor. As for Bertrand, 
from boyhood he had told her every plan or 
aspiration. They had quarreled, teased one 
another, and then made common cause against 
outside interference. Whatever Bertrand want- 
ed made, mended, watched, or cared for he put 
into Marie’s charge. She seldom asked him to 
do anything for her, but she tested all her 
thoughts and deeds by Bertrand’s theories. She 
might mock and contradict him — she usually 


Death. 


261 


did — but she had never taken a step of which 
he disapproved. She fancied they would always 
go on in this way. When the pastor should grow 
old and die, Bertrand would take up his duties. 
When Mere Bercier should become too feeble to 
minister to Bertrand, of course Marie would be 
the one to look out for his comfort. 

To-day dark new fancies crept into Marie’s 
mind, displacing the old pleasant ones. When 
Jeanne should go away, another bright young life 
would come in. Sophie was very entertaining ; 
she had seen considerable fine society, and eve- 
nings she would hold all their attention. The 
pastor would smile on her, and Bertrand put 
down his book to listen intently. She could 
sing, filling the house with melody. Marie had 
no accomplishments. She was not jealous. She 
saw plainly how lovely and attractive was this 
new-comer. If — if as Jeanne had said — and 
Marie, with a rising sob, reflected that some 
time there would not be here, any need of 
another besides Bertrand’s mother and Ber- 
trand’s wife. In that case she herself might 
possibly go to Jeanne, but could any place in 
the world be so dear as Canterbury? No one 
had occasion to tell her what she had seen for 


262 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


herself. 'In Eochester had Bertrand been aware 
of any one but Sophie? Even Raymond, who 
knew her of old, could scarcely get speech with 
her when Bertrand was near. Now she was to 
be ever here — always in their merry-makings, 
present at every evening talk, by their side on 
Sunday in the cathedral. A great tide of lone- 
liness swept over Marie, as if she were now sud- 
denly to be shut out of a sunny garden that she 
but just realized had been a sort of paradise. 
She heard Jeanne coming, and sprang up to 
seem busy at her work. 

Madame Bercier returned the fourth day, 
and Sophie with her. Sophie was a little pale 
and tearful wdien the talk recalled Lady Mel- 
ton. Every one petted her. Marie learned her 
first lesson in unselfishness in trying to make 
the guest at home. Hitherto it had been only 
a pleasure to do for all in the household. She 
did not dislike Sophie, and it was an undefined 
pain this new experience in the once gay little 
Marie’s heart. Young French girls who were 
well brought up were not given to thoughts of 
love and lovers. When it came time for them 
to marry, their parents were the ones to think 
and to plan. Marie did not know that she 


Death. 


263 


loved Bertrand with all the intensity of her 
girlish heart, and that for this reason it was 
she was hurt to feel that all his love was a 
quick gift to the new-comer. That Sophie 
might not love Bertrand never occurred to her. 
Was he not to Marie like Sir Galahad? 

A letter came from Hubert telling of a fine 
old house he had secured, of the people to 
whom he would proudly show his bride, of the 
liberty enjoyed in Leyden, and the excellent 
religious and intellectual tone of society there. 
Withal there were kind, brotherly messages to 
Sophie. 

Time ran along with our friends, and Sophie 
endeared herself to all the pastor’s family. 
She helped M^re Bercier about the house, 
so that Marie could sit with Jeanne, who made 
ready her trousseau. It was not grand, this 
bridal outfit, but Raymond had taken care 
that his sister should not have to go to Leyden 
a portionless bride. 

One day, as Sophie was about her light tasks, 
Jeanne came to her, saying, “The queerest fel- 
low that ever I saw is at the door and asketh 
for thee. He is clean and well-dressed, but 
hunchbacked — a dwarf — ” 


264 


Jacob's Heiress. 


She said no more, for Sophie darted past her, 
crying, “ ’Tis Jacob, my good Jacob, I doubt 
not!” 

Jacob it was, who seemed utterly abashed at 
her appearance. He colored, stammered, and 
did obeisance as if to the queen, after one long 
stare of surprise. 

“ Why, Jacob, my faithful old guardian I Have 
I changed so much ?” cried Sophie as it dawned 
on her that Jacob expected to find her little, 
lean, and poorly clad — the same Sophie he lost 
in London. He was himself much improved, 
and but for his deformity had quite the air of 
a wage-earner doing profitable work. He told 
her when she had made him cordially welcome 
that after he had lost her he found steady work 
at boat-building. He had been frugal and in- 
dustrious, never giving up the hope of hearing 
from Hubert. Lately a man from Leyden had 
told him where Hubert was, and that friends 
of his were in Canterbury. From following 
up every clue he had found out more. He 
came to see Sophie first, and was about to re- 
turn to the Netherlands. He w^as homesick, had 
laid up his wages, and was going to find Hu- 
bert. The entire family welcomed him after 


Death. 


265 


this statement, and many were the messages 
sent to Hubert by him. After a visit of a few 
hours he returned to Canterbury, and thence 
went to Dover and Holland. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


SOPHIE’S JOURNAL AGAIN. 

JT AST night I overheard Jeanne say to Mad- 
ame Bercier, “In that case may I not take 
dear little Marie with me to Leyden ?” I wish 
I did not begin to feel sure of what I would 
not for a while let stay in my thoughts. Mad- 
ame Bercier hath once or twice begun as if 
she had somewhat to say to me of uncommon 
import, then ceased. Now almost I wish she 
would utter it, lest it come to me another way. 

It hath come ! Yesterday was a midsummer 
day, and in the afternoon Madame Bercier saith 
to us young people, “ Let us go walk to St. Mar- 
tin’s on the hill.” So we went. I kept ever 
by Jeanne, talking of Leyden, but, how it hap- 
pened I cannot tell (unless by Mere Bercier’s 
own willing), Bertrand delayed me to pluck 
wild roses. Madame and the girls were just 
beyond hearing if one talked not loudly. He 
is so very lovable! Once have I seen a face 
painted in Italy by a friar whom men called 
m 


267 


Sophie’s Journal Again. 

“ Angelico/’ because he put such purity into his 
pictured faces. Bertrand hath such goodness in 
his. 

I am very sorry. Bertrand loveth me, and 
would have me for his wife. He hath told all 
to his mother, his father, and Hubert : all wish 
it might be, hut it cannot he. He began to speak 
fast to show me he could wait ; then, seeing how 
he grieved me — for much it hurt me to hurt 
him — he ceased. He tore his hands with 
thorns, but struggled till he plucked the fairest 
rose. He gave it me, saying he would then be 
like a priest, who giveth his life to good works 
and his love only to heaven. We went on, and 
found the others sitting among the pink daisies 
between the graves. Marie was softly crying by 
herself. Mere Bercier thought it was for a sweet 
little child buried here yester-week, one Marie 
loved. Mayhap it was, but of late I do perceive 
some things in Marie that none seem to heed. I 
will keep them to myself, but I will pray every 
night that no hurt, but rather a blessing, come 
through my stay here. 

Mere Bercier hath spoken. She is sorry, but 
blameth me in no wise. I asked her if it were 
not better that I go now to Marjory Nelson, but 


268 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


she saith no. She added, a little proudly, that 
her Bertrand was no baby to wail for what he 
might not have. She hath quite a littlo 
innocent pride, this dear good mother. She 
doth not wish the girls to know aught, of 
what hath happened, as if I could tell them ! 

I am making Marie sing with me. None 
have made enough of her voice. There is a 
ballad I have taught her that maketh tears 
come to hear, such heart she putteth into it. I 
was glad to-night because Jeanne made her sing 
it for us. Bertrand said, “ Why, little one, thy 
notes are like a thrush’s.” 

To-day Jeanne, Bertrand and I were in the 
garden, and I talked that plainly to them that 
to-night I shall make apology in some sort. 
They love Marie, but they have thought so long 
of her as a giddy child that they do not see 
she is now a wise and really sensitive maiden. 
Bertrand hurt her by saying she had torn her 
gowm climbing trees for the birds’ nests. ’Twas 
by a chance I knew she had been down in a 
miserable hovel nursing a sick child. I scolded 
them ; Jeanne laughed and kissed me. Bertrand 
stared as if he never knew before that Marie was 
seventeen years old. 


269 


Sophie’s Journal Again. 

Yes, I will apologize to-niglit for plain speak- 
ing, and so get one more chance to let him 
know there are more maidens than one in the 
world. . . . Bertrand says I need make no 
excuses — that he has indeed been very careless 
of Marie’s feelings. It seems to just strike him 
that she is changed, that she does not tease or 
mock him now-a-days. I asked him how long 4 
he had known her and all about their childish 
plays. Marie came as he was telling of the old 
garden of the Raymond chateau. She joined 
our talk, and grew so animated that her blue 
eyes sparkled and her cheeks were like the 
English hedge-roses. I said, “ Marie, you make 
me think of a poem that Bertrand was saying 
Mr. Spenser has writ. — Tell it to her, Bertrand.” 

He looked a bit displeased at me — why 
should he? He is not quite a saint, after all, 
but he quoted it right prettily to Marie, and a 
when he ended he saith, “ Moreover, of a truth 
it fits well.” 

Marie blushed, and made as if to mock him, 
but a little after tears that he did not see came 
into her eyes. Please God, I will have her hap- 
pier if I can do aught to make her so. 

A long letter hath come from Monsieur Ray- 


270 


jacoVs Heiress. 


mond telling of affairs in France, and full of 
admiration for his hero, King Henry of Na- 
varre. Pastor Bercier cannot see that all 
looketh so hopeful as monsieur saith. Pie 
does not doubt but King Henry will in time 
obtain the highest place. He only fears that 
to obtain it he will betray his Lord and Mas- 
ter. At the worst he (the pastor) says Henry 
will not persecute the Huguenots ; but to have 
Henry of Navarre become a Koman Catholic, 
if not a persecutor, would be a bitter humilia- 
tion to the Huguenots. Jeanne is very sadly 
disappointed because her brother thinks that he 
cannot take the long, expensive journey in or- 
der to see her married. He says he will visit 
her in Leyden instead, if all goes well. He 
does not know that this will be a double wed- 
ding, and he will be surprised, I do imagine, 
for he seemed ever to speak of Marie as a 
child. 

Marie is of the same age as myself, yet he 
did not talk to me in the same playful manner. 
He was a trifle constrained, as if he approved 
not wholly of me, unless I mistake. I take it 
not as kind that when he sees me no more he 
forgets my existence or ever to send even a mes- 


271 


Sophie^s Journal Again. 

sage. Ah, well ! In those Antwerp days I was 
a child with naught to think of but the friends 
in the house. He only knew me for a waif 
kept by Vrouw Van Schendel. Mayhap none 
ever told him that the Volmer blood was as 
good as any in the Netherlands. When he 
cometh to Leyden, if so be I am also there, 
it behoveth me to hold myself a little more 
haughtily. He might at least have writ one 
civil word to me, when he forgot not to ask 
that somebody thank again old Giles for a 
favor done to monsieur. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE CHATEAU. 


NE afternoon in November the late sun 



shone warmly on the old chateau of the 
Raymonds. It illumined the dark towers of 
the near castle, it sparkled on the waters of the 
stream, and but for the drying foliage one 
would not have thought November had come. 
A man in a mood by no means jubilant, to 
judge from his grave face, was pacing up and 
down the old garden-walks. 

These were the saddest days in Louis Ray- 
mond’s life. He was wondering if he could 
still he a young man and have so much of life, 
its joys, loves, hopes, experiences, all behind 
him. His boyhood had been very happy here, 
but what had made it brightest lay under the 
sod of the near churchyard, where he now 
carried the roses that still bloomed in the gar- 
den. The rooms, dismantled and cheerless, 
sent a chill through him when he crossed their 


272 


The Chatemi. 


273 


threshold. Curiosity had taken him that day 
over the old castle, occupied now by a few 
decrepit servants. Raymond almost wished 
his enemy the Count d’Estre were alive and at 
home, that he might do battle with him for 
the estate that how was his own without con- 
test. The wish aroused him, and he began to 
rate himself aloud : “ ’Tis time I rid me of 
these melancholic moods. Because I can no 
longer fight, must I cease to be endurable to 
myself or of use to my neighbor? Let me 
thank God that I dealt some thick blows and 
hot at the persecutors of my Church, then set 
myself a task for days to come.” 

This last was far from easy. Raymond 
seemed to himself old because his past had 
been so full. He had studied, traveled, made 
many friends, fought in Holland, and again in 
France; never at rest, always moved by some 
new enthusiasm. He was now incapable of 
long marches, of the fatigues of camp-life. He 
must fight his battles by the fireside ; what he 
had recovered of his patrimony removed him 
from poverty. He almost wished it had not, 
that he might become a wanderer ; as it was, 
he had duties to his neighbors. 

18 


274 


Jacobs Heiress. 


Up and down the garden he paced, his 
thoughts reverting to Jeanne, Marie and the 
cheerful English home. He was glad to think 
of Jeanne’s happiness, of Hubert’s love for his 
beautiful young sister. They would make an- 
other home in Leyden like that of the first 
Van Schendel. How curiously his friends’ 
lives were intertwined ! French Jeanne a Hol- 
lander’s wife ; Sophie, the child of the once- 
proud Dutch Volmers, wedding a poor Hugue- 
not pastor’s son, their children growing up in 
England. Sophie ! 

The sunshine faded off the castle towers, the 
daylight melted into gray twilight, while Louis 
recalled every change of Sophie’s radiant face, 
saw the varying color of her cheeks, while the 
near roses of the garden turned gray, remem- 
bered the tenderness, the fun, the questioning 
of her blue eyes, until the stars came out. 

A shrill voice suddenly called, “Monsieur! 
monsieur 1” 

“Is it you, Julie?” he answered, turning 
toward the house, on whose door-stone he saw 
a figure. 

“ ’Tis I,” answered the faithful creature, 
who had once been the main stay of their 


The ChateaiL 


275 


domestic economy. “And, if I may speak out 
my mind, monsieur, ’tis that you will take some 
fever or other distemper in the damps of that 
old garden at night. May 1 come in to talk 
with you?” 

“You are welcome, my good Julie, for I am 
tired of the society of dead ancestors. I have 
none other within these walls now-a-days.” 

“ ’Tis just of that I would speak,” she said, 
half under her breath, as he prepared to start a 
fire in the fireplace. The house seemed even 
more cheerless than the garden. 

“ I cannot offer you sup or morsel,” he 
laughed, “for even in camp I never learned 
cookery. When I hunger I eat in the inn over 
the bridge.” 

, “ And you eat too little there, the innkeeper’s 
wife tells me,” said Julie, as she sat twirling her 
thumbs in a way Louis remembered of old. 

“What is it, Julie? I well remember that 
when you came to my mother with tales of 
goodies stolen from the larder or of noisy pranks 
in the storerooms, you were wont thus to twirl 
your thumbs.” 

Thus encouraged, Julie began : “ ’Tis most 

gloomy here, monsieur — ^ghosts and rats and 


276 


Jacob) s Heiress. 


only you ! Let me come back : let me come on 
the morrow. You say you will stay here in 
time to come ; then, as you are not poor, go buy 
furnishings and make the old home pleasant. 
Get horses for riding, buy cows for me to make 
butter and cheese, sit at your own table.” 

“And make merry with my shadow on the 
wall?” he asked, half bitterly. 

“ Monsieur, you are well favored ; whose 
family is better than your own? There are 
young maidens in many a Huguenot family not 
a hundred leagues distant. Why not seek out a 
fair, sweet wife to sit with you ?” 

“Speak not of that, Julie,” he said, sharply: 
“I have no mind to marry.” 

“ Well, thy sister Jeanne. I mistake the stuff 
she is made of if she will not want her man 
and her little ones to see the home she played 
in, and where her mother, yea her great-grand-* 
mother before her, all of them, were born and 
died.” 

“True, she might visit me, but times are 
troublous; ’tis a long, long way to Leyden. 
Once she gets the home-nest warm, she will be 
no rover.” 

“And Marie? Is little hot-headed Marie 


The Chateau. 


277 


turned to a cold, dull Englishwoman so soon? 
Has she no love for tlie old home?” 

Louis stared at her as if a sudden train of 
thought, of recollections, had been awakened by 
her words. After a long silence he said slowly, 
“Julie, you may come back. I will make the 
old house comfortable at least; you shall help 
me. I will get the new after the pattern of the 
old and restore the chateau.” 

Julie was overjoyed, but, seeing Louis ab- 
sorbed in thought, she wisely restrained her 
tongue, bade him good -night, and went away 
happy. 

It had come to Louis with great force that he 
had been very thoughtless about his young 
cousin Marie. She seemed as near to him, and 
almost as dear in the same sisterly way, as did 
Jeanne. While in Canterbury she had been so 
much a part of the Bercier establishment, of all 
their home interests, that he had forgotten that 
she was, after all, a Raymond. The chateau 
was her earliest home, her father’s before her. 
Ought Marie not to be his charge? He w^as 
leaving her dependent on the Berciers, although 
they regarded her as a daughter, and doubtless 
she repaid their love a hundredfold. But things 


278 


Jacob's Heiress. 


were changing now. Soon young Bercier would 
take Sophie for his wife. . Might not that change 
everything? If the old people died, Sophie 
and Bertrand might have interests apart from 
Marie, who was really no kin. Louis felt con- 
vinced that he had been blameworthy and sel- 
fish in his personal grief at loving and losing 
Sophie. The longer he pondered the more he 
understood other things, noticed but not re- 
flected on hitherto. Toward the latter part of 
his stay in Canterbury, Marie had been very 
silent, often sad. Could this marriage of Ber- 
trand to Sophie have hurt her too f Poor little 
one ! He recalled her face as they had walked 
together, Jeanne and Hubert, Sophie and Ber- 
trand. She looked as he had felt at those times. 
He resolved to beg her to make her home here- 
after in the old chateau. They had a distant 
relative, a gentle old spinster of mature age, 
who could come as housekeeper and com- 
panion, for Marie would need other company 
than Julie. 

Some way, as Louis sat before the fire and 
planned all this, he felt less solitary, less deso- 
late. When a mouse fled across the corner he 
was cheered by the fancy of home voices, com- 


The Chateati. 279 

mon sights and sounds of domestic life, about 
him once more. 

Later his thoughts returned to his own life. 
What should it be ? What had it been ? What 
is a man’s life? 

In ffie silence of that night Louis questioned 
his soul. He had been a man of action, not a 
thinker, more practical than spiritual — a Hu- 
guenot — first, because of his ancestry ; secondly, 
because of his intellectual rejection of the teach- 
ings of the Romish Church. This night he 
asked himself what his Christianity meant? 
What he was doing for others with it ? What 
it was doing in him? He arose at last, and 
searched (he was not so dull that he did not 
think of the inconsistency of his acts) until he 
found his neglected Bible, then seated himself 
to read. 

The book fell apart at the chapter respecting 
the Christian armor. Its phrasing caught the 
Huguenot soldier’s eye. He read slowly, 
thoughtfully. He turned to the gospels next, 
reading the fourteenth and fifteenth of St. 
John. He closed the book at last, saying, “I 
have been a Huguenot. Whether or no I have 
been a Christian God alone knows. Henceforth 


280 


Jacob's Heiress. 


I must know. A poor soldier he who cannot 
tell the colors he has fought under. Verily, it 
seemeth to me that I have worshiped King 
Henry of Navarre instead of the Nazarene. — 
Jesus, thou Captain of my salvation, I give 
myself to thee, soul and body, this n%ht. I 
can no longer fight in earthly battlefields, but 
I can fight the good fight of faith. My prince 
Henry may fail me — my heart misgiveth me 
about him of late — but thou art the same yes- 
terday, and to-day, and for ever.” 

It was past midnight when Louis Raymond 
rose from his kneeling-place on the desolate 
hearth of his ancestors, but he was no longer 
melancholy or weary of life. The fire had 
gone out, yet his heart burned within him ; as 
never before he was ready for life or for death. 


CHAPTER XV. 


I 

SOPHIE’S JOURNAL {Continued). 

/FARIE is very ill — Jeanne and I have been 
banished to Marjory Nelson’s house. 
Mere Bercier has a nurse to help her in our 
stead. Marie has of late been constantly 
among the poor and hath taken a low fever. 
Bertrand saith it would astonish us to know 
how she is loved by the poor, the afflicted and 
the children among the Huguenots here. He 
saith she was ever coming and going in their 
houses, and he takes shame to himself that he 
fancied it was for gossip or just her pleasure. 
Old folks tell how she was like sunshine dan- 
cing in at the door ; now the children come ask- 
ing for her, and people bring broths and fruit 
for her; but she cannot see any one but the 
nurses. 

To-night Jeanne said to Bertrand, between 
her sobs, “ How terrible if our little Marie should 
die! How can Sophie and I leave the dear 

281 


282 Jacob’s Heiress. 

mother all alone? Only think of home with 
no Marie !” 

I never saw Bertrand so shocked. ^‘Without 
Marie !” he exclaimed. Don’t sfpeah of such a 
thing!” and he went home, never telling a 
message that madame had sent us. . . . 

It is now ten weeks since Marie was taken 
with her fever, and until to-day she hath not 
been out of her room. 

This afternoon we made a beautiful fire on 
the hearth and heaped up soft rugs and cush- 
ions before it. Then Bertrand lifted her like 
a little child in his arms and fetched her down 
stairs. We have been very merry, and a soft 
little color has got into her white cheeks. She 
hath an appetite now, and we feasted together, 
rejoicing over her greatly. . . . 

Marie gets better every day. Yesterday we 
were alone together and spoke of Jeanne’s 
wedding, that cometh in a little more than two 
months. She took my hand in her thin, small 
fingers, saying, “Has Mere Bercier thought it 
would excite me too much that she never tells 
me when you will be a bride, Sophie?” 

May I be forgiven if I put too much aston- 
ishment in my voice when I said, “ 7, Marie f 


283 


SopJiie\s Journal. 

Whoever has sought me out but my good 
Jacob? To my knowledge none talk of mar- 
riage with me ” Then I slipped away lest she 
say something better left unsaid. . . . 

I was in my chamber dressing to-day when 
Jeanne came in to hug me before she told me 
some good news. All the family were together 
by the fireside half an hour ago, when Bertrand, 
who had been reading to Marie, laid down his 
book and looked at her. “ To whom does 
Marie belong most of all T’ he asked, laughing 
a little at their surprise. 

“Belong?” echoed his mother; “why, she 
belongeth to — to — all of us — to Raymond and 
Jeanne by ties of blood, to us by love.” 

“If a lover cometh he must know of whom 
first to ask her hand.” Jeanne saith Marie 
grew pale, not red ; then Bertrand put suddenly 
his arm about her, saying, “ Mother, I want her 
to belong most of all to me. I love her, and I 
hope God will let her live to be my wife and 
thy beloved daughter, if thou canst love her 
even better than thou dost.” 

Marie had blushes enough by that time, for 
the pastor blessed them, madame embraced 
both and Bertraiad kissed his betrothed, who 


284 


Jacobs Heiress. 


did not say “ Nay ” if she did not say Yea,” 
being so taken by storm, as it were. 

Every one in the house is content. There 
will be two weddings at Christmas-tide. 

Mothers have pride that is funny. Mere 
Bercier droppeth little sayings in these days 
to the effect that Bertrand hath loved Marie so 
long he knoweth not when that love began. 
She hath truth in thus saying. He was but 
awakened by a new presence, a fancy soon 
banished. I agree with Mere Bercier that no 
wife could be better for Bertrand. Her feet 
will be on earth if ever his head getteth among 
the clouds. I rejoice, but I am lonely without 
Lady Melton. 

Every one is busy. Jeanne and Marie are 
ever sewing and embroidering. Mere Bercier 
hath saved money enough to build two more 
rooms to the little house. These will be for the 
bride. All are very happy. I could almost 
wish I were in Leyden. There must I find 
work wherewith to employ my thoughts and 
fingers. Here I get more restless and not 
happier. I have been visiting the sick in 
Marie’s stead. 

To-day is Sunday, and all are gone to the 


285 


Sophie^s Journal. 

cathedral. I have taken cold, and Mere Bercier 
hath given me a warm draught and bidden me 
stay quiet by the fireside until they return, for 
it is a bitter day — a bitter cold day without, 
but warm and sunny within. When I wrote 
last in my journal I put down but scant meas- 
ure of the melancholic thoughts with which 
my heart was over full. Never, even in Ant- 
werp streets as a homeless child — never in Ley- 
den as an ill-used, forsaken girl — was I more 
miserable. Three days ago it was the first day 
of December. Every one in the house, even 
the cat, sang with contentment. I was glad for 
them, but I wanted to get away a little while 
from talk of household stuff. Not far away is 
a pretty place where in summer we have often 
been. I had a fancy to see the ruined old 
abbey now when the wild flowers are no longer 
blossoming in the empty window-frames and 
the ivy sways in the cold winds. It was not 
desolate, after all, but very beautiful. The 
flowers w^re gone, but the holly-berries were 
bright, the ivy green, and the wind moaned 
softly through the old arches and aisles as if 
doves were cooing somewhere out of sight. I 
found a very old stone that I never saw before. 


286 


JacoVs Heiress. 


oil which was cut, “ Pray for the soul of Hugh 
de the rest of the name was gone. I sup- 

pose he belonged to the abbey before its ruin. I 
wondered if it were well now with his soul and if 
he ever thought of this old stone. If he be in 
Paradise, he might better pray for the mortals 
who are down here with his stone than they for 
him. Then I used it for a seat. 

It was not yet five o’clock when the sun faded 
behind the soft gray clouds and a feathery snow 
began to float down, the first of the long winter 
to come. Two or three sheep strayed into the 
fields by the ruins. By and by a new moon 
came out, and then a party of hunters, clad all 
in scarlet, rode past, going home from the chase. 
It was all such a beautiful picture, so unlike 
anything I had ever seen, that I stayed looking 
at the great floating snow-feathers until I was 
cold ; and caught cold too. But I would not 
have missed the pretty sight for anything. 

That was not all, either. My heart grew 
warm as my body grew chill. It came to me 
that God was good, and I only was ungrateful. 
Just as before that spring day under the oak 
trees at Chelsea I loved him for his wonderful 
goodness. I was no longer lonely. I had two 


287 


Sophisms Journal. 

homes : the Berciers were my friends, they loved 
me most unselfishly ; then there was Hubert. I 
sat so still, thinking myself into peace again, 
that the snow fell in my lap and a little brown 
bird lit on the holly branch I held. Then I 
came home with a Bible verse or two that said 
to me over and over, “ The Lord shall preserve 
thee from all evil. He shall preserve thy soul. 
The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy 
coming in from this time forth and even for 
evermore.” 

I hastened when once I came out on the high- 
way, for I would not that the darkness should 
overtake me. As yet there was a most strange light 
over the land — a light as of the snow, the moon, 
and the twilight together. The road was not 
good, the way across fields much longer, and I 
repented me that I was late, when I heard a 
horse behind me, and the voice of one urging 
him onward. Soon the horseman caught up 
with me, so I hastened as best I could without 
showing my fright, for I knew that he kept pace 
and watched me. Truly it was no fit hour for a 
maiden to be out alone, and much I wished I 
had not on my blue mantle, which is too fine to 
belong to any but a lady. 


288 


JacoVs Heiress. 


I&y heart stood still when the man leaped to 
the ground and approached me. 

“Is it you, Sophie?” he exclaimed, and before 
he said my name I knew it was Hubert. How 
glad I was to see him ! My dear good brother ! 
the only one left in all the world on whose affec- 
tion I can rely. Of course these new friends are 
all kindness, but deep roots can belong only to 
old plants. Hubert embraced me, chiding me 
at the same time for being venturesome in walk- 
ing so late. Then naught would do but I must 
ride home while he went at my side. It goes 
without saying that I must tell him of Jeanne 
first, and then of other matters. He was beyond 
measure astonished that Marie would marry 
Bertrand, saying he did think him sure to 
wed — I did at that stop his utterance of the 
name by entreaty, begging him never to ask 
question of me or whisper suspicion to Jeanne. 
.He marveled, but he made promise. Thus w^e 
talked until we were at the cottage, seeing first 
the lights from the windows, the red glow of the 
fire on the hearth with figures passing to and 
fro. Hubert made sure he saw Jeanne. 

They were not expecting Hubert quite so 
soon, but how they welcomed him ! We Dutch 
I 


Sophie^ s Journal. 


289 


and the English are not so open, so exuberant 
in our joy as the French, but theirs when sincere 
is most charming to see. All kissed Hubert, the 
good pastor first on one cheek, then on the other. 
Madame heaped fagots on the fire, and ran 
hither and thither to add new goodies to the 
supper. Jeanne was the quietest of all, but her 
eyes were like stars. 

After supper (and madame made it a feast) 
there were a great many things to discuss. It 
is beautiful to see other people very happy, to 
have time to sit by quietly, to listen, and pray 
God to keep them always blessed and in his 
care. 

Bertrand was rather ill at ease for a time, but 
I guessed the reason. When he saw Hubert 
last he was — He had not found out his love 
for Marie. I watched my chance to whisper to 
him that Hubert said that next to Jeanne Ma- 
rie would be the wife a man could have, or 
some light pleasant thing like that. He looked 
at me strangely, then he said very softly, very 
earnestly, love her, Sophie.’^ 

I had stayed too long in the cold of the 
ruins ; shivers ran over me, so at last I begged 
them to let me go to my bed. I could not 

19 


290 


JacoUs Heiress. 


sleep there, but I could watch the stars and 
wonder, question, decide, and then be again in 
doubt about what I will do in the future. I 
am not poor ; I shall be no burden on any one, 
thanks be to God and Lady Melton ! I can stay 
here, but the house is small, the family com- 
plete without me. I can go to Leyden, and my 
inclinations are that way. If Hubert were in 
very truth my brother, I would not for one 
moment hesitate. He is not nearer related 
than to Jeanne ; when once they are man and 
wife — I know not, I may be wrong, but an 
outsider is ever outside, and should be. A man 
needs only wife, mother, or sister; no other 
woman’s love or influence works for good in 
the home. 

I might go lodge with Marjory Nelson after 
a time. So I thought and thought until toward 
morning, when I fell asleep. 

In the day that followed all my questions 
found answer. Surely God moves people as he 
likes, and doth strange things. Hubert next 
morning, when I appeared, did make me a bow 
so profound that I would know if he were 
practising for a courtier. He made answer no, 
but that by a turn of fortune’s wheel I was now 


Sophie^ s Journal. 291 

a great heiress and not one to be treated with 
scant ceremony. 

“ Truly,” said I, “ I was as much of an heiress 
as Lady Melton could make me ere you went 
hence months ago; but you were not then 
. oppressed by thoughts of my grandeur. Let 
it not overwhelm you now.” 

“But, Sophie dear, I have a great piece of 
news for thee,” he answered in the old brotherly 
tone that I remember so well as a child — the 
tender “Thee.” “Jacob was born to be thy 
guardian angel, though never did angel mas- 
querade in less angelic body. Thou knowest 
he has been of late with me in Leyden, and of 
great use have I found him. Travel and the 
fortunes of his life since he lived with us have 
greatly sharpened his wits and his judgment. 
He could not be more honest or faithful. Well, 
about a month gone there was a small matter 
of business I had need to have done in Rotter- 
dam. It was a simple affair, only to take a 
certain paper to some man of the law, an errand 
at the town-hall, and details of such sort. I 
bethought me to send Jacob, who is ever glad 
to go from town to town, for he knoweth folk 
in Leyden, Delft, Haarlem, and every city there- 


292 


Jacobs Heiress. 


abouts, it seemeth to me. He was most willing, 
and set forth proud of his errand. It was all 
done, but so late one day that it seemed wise ► 
to stay the night. The law-paper being deliv- 
ered, he did not at the moment understand that 
nothing was to be returned to me, and so wait- 
ed, standing aside for others with mightier bus- 
iness. While waiting he overheard one say to 
another, “ ’Tis most curious how many times 
some estates have changed hands in these last 
troublous years! Vast properties have been 
lost, stolen, confiscated. Again, some titles are 
as good to-day as they were fifty years ago. 
There was an Andreas Volmar here. He died, 
leaving a large fortune well invested and pro- 
tected. No heir has yet been able to establish a 
claim to it.” 

“You may imagine,” said Hubert, “that 
Jacob pricked up his ears at the name Volmar. 
He listened to much more on the same subject, 
and came home full of it. I went at once to 
Rotterdam, and found out enough to show that 
the Volmar estates are large and will belong to 
you if your claim is established. I will give you 
fuller facts later on, but at this stage of affairs 
nothing can be done without you. You must 


293 


Sophie^ s Journal. 

go back to tell all you know of your father and 
his family. It will, they say, be easy to estab- 
lish your relationship to the extinct Antwerp 
Volmars. Your mother did that before she 
died. Then, Sophie, you are the heiress that 
Jacob declared you were that night when he 
found you in the cold and dark. You must 
come back with Jeanne and me now, any way.” 

I am very, very glad at the prospect of riches. 
I was wickedly glad in a worldly, hard way at 
first. I said away down in my heart, Now, 
Monsieur Louis Raymond of the Raymonds 
who have flourished for centuries, I will show 
you that the little orphan of Antwerp is a 
Volmar, and the Volmars are as ancient and as 
good as the dead Raymonds. The living will 
be very much richer.” Then I was ashamed, 
and now what makes me happiest is to think 
that I can save from want poor houseless 
orphans like myself, and sad, helpless widows 
like my young mother. I can do to others what 
God’s children did for me when I was cold and 
hungry. I can work for souls too — can help 
such men as Pastor Bercier to carry God’s word 
to the ignorant. I have asked God for Christ’s 
sake not to give me this gold if I will not spend 


294 


Jacobis Heiress. 


it aright. I do not want riches in order to lead 
such a life as Lady Melton led, to have such bitter 
remembrances of folly as she suffered from. . . . 

It seemeth to me that I have lived in Leyden 
more than the six months which have passed 
this June day since I set foot again in Holland. • 
I have not writ one page in this journal since I 
was in Canterbury. Now I will go back and 
take up the story for Jeanne’s grandchildren if 
so be she have them. 

That was a happy, tearful time, a green 
Christmas, when roses blossomed in Mere Ber- 
cier’s garden, and both brides wore posies of the 
white ones. The marriages were performed in 
the grand cathedral, or in one corner of it; 
Pastor Bercier married Hubert and Jeanne in 
that part of the great building where the 
Huguenots may worship. It was cold and dis- 
mal, but the bride and groom had life and color 
enough to bring cheer even into the crypt. 
Bertrand has gone over into the Church of 
England : a clergyman friend of his married 
him and Marie in a chapel under a wonderful 
glass window. Bertrand looked more than ever 
like the picture of St. John. People ask how 
can a Huguenot and an Anglican priest keep 


Sophie’s Journal. 


295 


the peace. They don’t know Pastor Bercier or 
Bertrand. They do not think alike about forms, 
but they love the same Saviour with all their 
heart. How could such Christians quarrel? 
Bertrand’s teachers say he will rise in the 
Church — not from ambition, but he is sure to 
become learned, and when he talks of religion 
he gets very eloquent, I am told. 

After the church service there was a festival 
at the house, where many friends were invited. 
Everybody loves Jeanne, Marie, and Bertrand. 
There was plenty of merriment and feasting, 
with gifts for the brides, and for a week after 
friends f^ted and made much of them. 

After that week Hubert, Jeanne, and I set sail 
from Dover to Potter dam. It was a long, 
greatly perilous voyage at that season. Much 
did we suffer ere we came to land, though I was 
far better quartered than when I crossed with 
Jacob, my faithful Jacob ! 

Everything Dutch was so new to Jeanne, she 
might have been homesick many times before 
we reached Leyden but for Hubert. He was 
very funny in his tenderness for her, and must 
needs undertake to talk only French to her, and 
a Dutchman doing that is ofttimes comical. It 


296 


Jacob's Heiress. 


was laughing at him that kept Jeanne from 
tears. 

But when, after many weary days, we came 
to Leyden to the pretty old house in the Klok- 
Steeg, close by the Pieters-Kerk Plads, it was 
happiness. Just such sunny rooms with rich 
furnishings as in the Van Schendels’ old home ; 
indeed, many things had Hubert saved from 
that home, and there were Dorothy and Jacob. 
Dorothy was much older and very fat, but as 
good-natured and twice as capable as when I 
knew her in Antwerp. That night when 
Hubert prayed I did wish his father and mother 
could have heard him. When we rose from our 
knees he pointed to the beautiful new carving 
in oak over the great fireplace, and said to 
Jeanne, “ My wife will help me keep that vow.” 
Then I saw cut there the words, “ As for me and 
my house, we will serve the Lord.” 

There has been much law-business since I 
returned, much searching of records of mar- 
riages, deaths, and christenings; but at length, 
this day week came I into what seemeth to me 
a great fortune. I have entreated of Hubert 
and Jeanne to keep the fact as closely as may 
be. I want to make sure that any new friends 


Soj^hie’s Journal. 


297 


seek me for myself. I learned only too well 
when with Lady Melton how gold doth attract 
flatterers as honey flies. Only I will now that 
any who have needs that 1 can minister to find 
me a true and kindly helper. 

I am fond of this old city, for ’tis one of the 
most ancient of Holland, and I think it right 
pleasant. Those who were here through the 
siege from October to March, about sixteen 
years ago, say it suffered much. I can well 
believe it, for I see the traces, even if people 
were not always telling how many then starved 
to death. But now the people are happy and pros- 
perous. After Prince William of Orange pierced 
the dykes and saved the city, he rewarded the 
citizens for their bravery by offering to exempt 
them from taxes for a number of years or to 
found a university. They chose the school, and 
since 1575 it has flourished greatly. There are 
many learned professors here and students from 
various parts. There is a very old burg in the 
centre of the town, much over five hundred 
years old, and near our house is the great 
church of St. Peter, about three hundred years 
old, a most rich and beautiful church, with 
monuments of distinguished families. I am 


298 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


proud to be a Dutchwoman. The queer old 
city is even more strange-seeming to Jeanne 
than to me, so we oft take walks about it, ex- 
ploring old buildings. She is fast learning 
Dutch, and I no longer need to translate to her 
the old wives’ stories of the Spaniards or the 
siege. Hubert makes love to her now in his 
own tongue, and he doth it as if he were but 
yesterday betrothed. My constant attendant, 
and him whom I most encourage, is Jacob. 
The affection he has for me is somewhat like a 
father’s, but more that of a huge dog. He has 
entered my service for life. Verily, the gravest 
would laugh to see his pride in certain new 
garments. ’Tis no livery ever seen before on 
mortal servitor, but a mixture of the garbs of 
footman, soldier, sailor, and rustic, and it being 
new and most conspicuous, he delighteth to 
roam abroad in it. All know him, and, being 
friendly, all tell him he is right brave in attire. 

These long summer days are very beautiful. 
We have a garden wherein are all manner of 
bright blossoms as well as goodly fruit trees. 
There is a little summer arbor at the bottom 
over a canal. There we often sit to eat and 
drink while we chat with friends going past 


Sophie’s Journal. 


299 


on their boats. Hubert bath many friends, 
men of worth, of family, better still those who 
have fought bravely for liberty, or men learned 
though not old — good men all of them. One 
thing only I wish were otherwise : two such 
friends of his would have me to marry. I 
think to stay single, to give my life to good 
works like as if I were a Protestant Sister of 
Charity. Jeanne looketh sober when I say 
what is my mind touching this, but Hubert 
only laugheth. 

Jeanne this day had a long letter from Can- 
terbury, which was scarce a month in coming, 
and this for a letter between private folk is not 
slow. Public documents are sent most marvel- 
ously fast in these days by post, by couriers, and 
what not. Marie writes ten words of Bertrand 
to three of herself. I believe the archbishop of 
Canterbury is a smaller man in her eyes. 
What comes after his .praises is grateful news 
of the pastor’s health, that Mere Bercier getteth 
very stout and rosy, that the summer maketh 
all Kent like the garden of Eden, and, best of 
all, God keepeth them in great happiness and 
peace. 

Now, it seemeth that Monsieur Raymond did 


300 


Jacob's Heiress. 


not receive the letter wherein Marie did tell him 
of her betrothal and marriage to be. She knew 
it not, although she did grieve a little, it now 
seems, that he wrote her no cousinly words at 
the time. She has of late heard from him that 
he has made to be restored, refurnished, and 
cheerful the old chateau, and he did urge Marie 
to come make it her home, for that he should 
never marry. Marie is sorry, but consoleth her- 
self by the knowledge that he has a former ser- 
vant who maketh him comfortable. She wrote 
back that he would do well to come once more 
to Canterbury, where were a choice of young 
Huguenot maidens that might cause him to 
alter his purposes. 

I have been to Antwerp, and after great bar- 
gaining and delay I have purchased the old 
Van Schendel mansion. With Hubert’s help 
three wise and pious matrons, made homeless 
by past troubles, have become housekeepers 
there, and — how my heart leaps to think of it ! 
— twelve little fatherless, motherless girls, like 
my own once-poor little self, are at home there. 
The old rooms are full of comforts for them : 
the table is heaped daily with more food for 
each than poor, dear Vrouw Van Schendel saw 


301 


Sophisms Jomiial. 

in a week during the siege. They romp in the 
garden, and are taught by the good women. 
My heart almost bursts with joy that I can do 
this. I go daily alone to one corner of. the 
Pieters-Kerk and beg the blessed Saviour to 
show me what else I can do. Above all, I 
implore him to believe that out of love I do it 
unto these little ones as unto him. 

I ought ever to take shame to myself that I 
am lonely if I can make dark lives bright. We 
named the home for the little Elizabeth who 
long ago made Vrouw Van Schendel’s heart 
tender toward me, and if she can know it in 
heaven I think she smiles. 

We have had a very great surprise. We were 
all, about sunset, in the arbor. Three of Hu- 
bert’s friends were there : with one was his wife, 
whom Jeanne liketh well. There was also Herr 
Engelbertsz, very handsome, good, and wise. 
But I wish he came not so uselessly and often. 
Of a sudden came Jacob galloping adown the 
garden-walk, his face all smiles, and behind 
him — Monsieur Louis Baymond ! Jeanne was 
beside herself with joy, and Hubert was 
almost equally delighted. I am, of course, no 
relative. I bethought me of that, as well as of 


802 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


other things, for I did feel of a sudden strangely 
faint; ^twas a hot day. I assured him I was 
pleased that he had come, and spoke of the 
pleasure his sister must have in showing him 
her new home. The gentlemen were soon all 
at ease together. Monsieur speaks Dutch per- 
fectly. Herr Engelbertsz never appeared better. 
He was much interested to learn of the Hugue- 
nots, and what Raymond thought of Henry of 
Navarre. Would he be tempted to sell his faith 
for the crown of France? 

Monsieur was much less vehement in his 
eulogies of his prince than when in Canterbury. 
He spoke more in the manner of Pastor Bercier 
as to affairs in France. Herr Fngelbertsz (as 
often) was near to me, and did never forget to 
offer me cakes and to show me quiet courtesies. 
It was a relief when our Leyden friends went 
home. 

I enjoy our guest’s society greatly, but, as is 
meet, I leave him much with his own kin. 

Men are ofttimes very trying when they 
would be in jest. Hubert secretly angereth me 
speaking to-day of Herr Fngelbertsz. What 
matters it to me that he will be a member of 
the council? 


Sophie^s Journal. 


303 


Monsieur Raymond is a much more zealous 
Christian than he was. When, at prayers, he 
taketh lead in place of Hubert, I am aston- 
ished. . . . 

I am for a time at Antwerp. I had need to 
see the children, to find more work to fill my 
mind. Jeanne has her house ; I had only too 
much time to think, and I — There is a con- 
straint : Tis not as it was with Monsieur Ray- 
mond when I was little Sophie. We cannot 
find speech of many matters when left together. 
I have never meant to carry out my silly whim 
to show him that a Volmar is as good as a Ray- 
mond; but he behaveth himself toward me as 
grimly as if I had done as I planned. 

The little ones here in the home are growing 
fat. They are happy ; I can do nothing more 
for them. The visit hath made me a little 
melancholic. I see, in fancy, those who once 
were in these rooms. In an old chest to-day I 
came on Elizabeth’s wooden doll, and I sat me 
down and wept. When later I showed that doll 
to the orphans, they shouted with laughter. 
’Tis not a pretty toy, surely. . . . 

What has come to me in one day ? Yester- 
day I was alone in the cheerful dining-room, 


304 


Jacob’s Heiress, 


which is most homelike because always now 
empty save at meal-times. The door opened, 
and one entered. I looked not up, supposing it 
to be one of the house-women. 

Monsieur Raymond stood at my side, saying, 
^‘Mademoiselle, I saw you in this room first a 
long time ago. I have ventured to come over 
to Antwerp to see your good charity in the dear 
old house.” 

I told him he was welcome. I gave him full 
histories of the orphans. Suddenly he said, 
“Knowest thou that when I left Canterbury I 
supposed that thou wert the betrothed wife of 
the pastor’s son ? I loved thee so I had to flee. 
I love thee now, with all the love I had then, 
and tenfold more. I have feared to speak. 
Thou art a great heiress now. I am not rich, 
not learned — lame. Herr Engelbertsz is a man 
far more important.” 

“And didst thou come all the way from 
Leyden to Antwerp to plead Herr Engelbertsz’s 
cause ? I never found him backward in the past.” 

“ Sophie,” he said, “ years ago I lifted thee in 
my arms to yonder shelf and begged thee for 
something. Thou wast very cruel then: only 
give it to me now and I shall be answered.” 


CHAPTER XVL 

NO LONGER EXILES. 



>GAIN it is summer, and the world is beau- 


tiful. This time we take you not to the 
dykes and windmills of Holland or to the 
capricious smiles and tears of an English 
climate, but to sunny France. 

It is a glorious morning, and one might at 
first fancy that it is the sunlight, the luxuriant 
foliage, the wealth of flowers alone that make 
the little hamlet in the valley look so attractive. 
These add light and color truly, but man’s hand 
has been at work. , There are many neat 
cottages clustering around the old Huguenot 
chapel ; children play about their doors. Once 
poverty, fear, or persecution had emptied those 
homes. The chapel has been enlarged ; there 
are monuments over the Raymond graves in the 
churchyard. There are silk-works now in the 
hamlet. The old castle even seems to wear a 
friendly air, covered as it is with creeping vines, 
with wisteria, and roses. The colors of France 

20 305 


30G JacoUs Heiress. 

are flying from its tower, but the nobleman who 
now has entered into possession is a Huguenot, 
even if a D’Estre. 

The chateau itself is little altered, but no one 
would associate it with desolation, rats, ghosts, or 
even dead ancestors. In the garden is riotous 
laughter. A little maid chasing butterflies, with 
her apron full of blue and yellow violets; she 
might be little Sophie. She is little Louise Van 
Schendel Raymond. The uncouth steed that is 
being fiercely driven up and down is not a 
dromedary, but a fat hunchback dwarf, Jacob 
by name. He is the loving slave of a youngster 
who shows already that he comes of a race who 
could die for the right, but never knew how to 
yield. 

Jacob was so thoroughly Dutch that he did 
not at once and gracefully bear transplanting. 
Julie was from the first hour devoted heart and 
hand to her new mistress. But did ever Beauty 
have for an attendant such a Beast? or so Julie 
expressed herself in secret. There was for a 
week or more war to the knife between the 
French servant and the Dutch boor. 

Raymond would have left matters to end as 
they might, but Sophie was wiser. One day she 


307 


No Longer Exiles. 

told Julie of the siege of Antwerp — of the little 
girl who often hid that no one might see her 
crying from the pangs of hunger. She asked 
her to imagine Jacob, hollow-cheeked, lean- 
ribbed, following the child into corners and 
leaving in her little hands the bread for which 
he must have been ravenous. 

Julie made no comment ; she only blew her 
nose emphatically, but that night Jacob’s dish 
overflowed with his best-liked food, and ever 
after he had the freedom of the city — or the 
kitchen, which was all he asked. 

This summer day Monsieur Raymond and his 
v^ell-beloved wife are busily talking of recent 
public events. 

“ Louis, ’tis far, far better than thou didst dare 
to hope flve years ago.” 

“ Ay, that it is ! When I knew that my hero, 
my prince, Henry of Navarre, had knelt in St. 
Denis and renounced the faith he had sworn 
to protect — renounced it for the crown of France 
— my heart was like to break. When I heard 
that Henry had gone into the Roman Church, 
I almost forgot that God was in heaven. I said, 
^Now indeed will the wicked triumph.’ My 
idol fell for ever, but I love the king — who can do 


308 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


less? -and, Sophie, how wonderfully did our 
Father in heaven take us Huguenots up when 
our earthly protector failed us in a fashion, for 
utterly fail us he never did!” 

“ What does this Edict of Nantes for us, 
Louis? I have not well understood” 

“ It seems to mean less to you, dearest, be- 
cause here, in this little out-of-the-way nook, we 
Huguenots have never been of importance 
enough to be meddled with seriously. Having 
thus always been safe by chance, we can scarce 
appreciate our new safety by law. Thanks be 
unto our God, all Huguenots now are safe. 
This edict grants to us liberty of conscience and 
of worship, a right to have and to keep public 
offices, and a chamber of justice to protect our 
rights. We must, ’tis true, pay tithes to the 
Church of Home, but where we have given our 
heart’s blood we can easily make shift to dole 
out money. We must keep church holy-days 
and festivals : so we will in our own way. But, 
best of all, we can maintain our preachers, and 
for our protection hold certain fortified places.” 
^ “ And but for this edict we would never have 
seen Pastor Bercier again in the valley?” 

“ Never, and we would have thought him a 


No Longer Exiles. 


300 


happy exile. Verily, the letter writ to me was 
a revelation, yet how natural it all was! He 
grew to youth, manhood, and middle age in 
this hamlet. He loves France as a Frenchman 
must. He was grateful for a home in England ; 
but now he ages, and the damps, the fogs, the 
chilling winter storms afflict him. None would 
have known it, he says, if God had not opened 
the way back to his sunny old home. Here are 
Huguenots who knew him, more who are ready 
to know and love him. Here is his church, his 
home, the graves of his fathers.” 

“They will lament him sorely in Canter- 
bury,” said Sophie, “ but he says there is a godly 
youth ready to begin work when he leaves it. 
Then Bertrand stayeth, and is a bond between 
the two places.” 

“Perhaps I do dear good M^re Bercier a 
wrong,” said Louis, smiling, “but I think she 
will be greatly grieved to give up her cottage 
with its adornments. It was a far better one 
there than here, but I — ” 

“ I know well what you would propose. Oh, 
Louis, how dull are men I Julie and I talked 
of that three weeks ago. To-morrow carpenters 
will begin to make snug, comfortable, and larger 


310 


Jacob’s Heiress. 


the old cottage of the Berciers. Then it will be 
a small return for all their love to Jeanne and 
Marie that we fill it with goods and furnishings 
of a sort to make Mere Bercier sing for joy.” 

^^Wef’ laughed Louis tenderly. “Whose 
gold is it that is all the time making some- 
body’s heart leap for joy?” 

“ God’s gold,” said Sophie, “ and thou and I 
are so blessed in being able to give it away 
together.” 

They stood a while in the sunshine in the 
doorway of their happy home; then Sophie 
asked, “Do you think this is the end of the 
persecutions of the Huguenots?” 

“ Who can tell ? There may be peace in our 
day — God grant it ! — but I read that Christ said 
that nation shall rise against nation and 
kingdom against kingdom, and there shall be 
famines and pestilences: all these are but the 
beginnings of sorrow. But he that shall en- 
dure unto the end, the same shall be saved.” 


THE END. 





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